To War
by Gwenneth
Summary: Upon their return from Narnia, Peter is drafted to fight in WW2. After sustaining a serious wound, he returns home. When Caspian sounds the horn, can Peter and his family find the strength to help restore Narnia to glory? AU movieverse, under REVISION.
1. Chapter 1

"To War" by Gwenneth

_Disclaimer: None of this is mine except parts of the plot._

_**Summary: Upon their return from Narnia, Peter is drafted to fight in WW2. After sustaining a serious wound, he returns home, still recovering. When Caspian sounds the horn, can Peter and his family find the strength to help restore Narnia to glory? AU movie-verse**_

__

A/N: This is AU movie-verse. I have not read the Narnia books and am not familiar with Mr. C.S. Lewis' characterizations. I've done my best to write these characters to what I've been told they are like. I have taken liberties with the characters' ages, and I have taken a few liberties with history. I have tried to make the battles I refer to here more accurate, but I cannot change the aspect of the story that has Peter drafted, even though there was no draft at the time I'm making one. It's central to the story and there is nothing I can do to work around it. I have the kids returning to their home a few months before the official end of the Blitz bombings, so that Peter can be in Greece in April 1941... I'm not a history buff, this is the best I can do. The engagement he fights in has to be lost and has to take place within about a year since the kids returned from Narnia. That rules out big engagements later in the war. These changes were spurred on by a few reviewers who said the historical inaccuracies were stopping them from reading the story and felt it would be a better piece if they were corrected. Because of the sheer volume of information, engagements and countries over which the war was fought, finding a battle that fit my needs was very difficult. If you do go back and read it, please let me know if you liked or didn't like the changes.

_A/N 2: This story will cover from after The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe through and slightly beyond Prince Caspian._

* * *

Part One:

_October, 1940...Finchley…_

Peter sighed, picking through the mail as he walked back to the house. Bills, bills, and more bills, it seemed, were all the Pevensies ever got – occasionally interspersed with letters from Mr. Pevensie, who wrote them whenever he wasn't in the air helping protect Britain against enemy bombings.

After a few months in the country, the Pevensie children had returned to Finchley and it was now late October, 1940. The Blitz bombings continued, but they were targeting more industrial sectors now and so the siblings had been brought home.

Today there was no letter, only bills, and he knew his mother would be hard-pressed to pay them. Again. Though their father sent home all the money he made in the Royal Air Force, and though Helen Pevensie worked two jobs, things were still tight for the family.

"Peter? Anything interesting?" Helen Pevensie asked as she set the table for breakfast, not bothering to look up. It was a ritual of sorts. She would ask him the same question every morning, and if it was bills he'd say no, but if there was a letter from the family patriarch it garnered a yes.

"No, Mum," he said, tossing the pile onto a nearby counter and taking the stack of plates from his mother's hands. "It's unlike Dad to wait so long between letters."

Mrs. Pevensie nodded in agreement. "I'm sure there are many reasons there could be a post delay, Peter."

They ended all talk of the war and their father as Lucy came barreling down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Morning, Peter! Morning, Mum!" she chorused, her endless supply of cheer none the worse for wear that morning.

"Morning, darling," Mrs. Pevensie replied, kissing her daughter's hair with a small smile. "Are your brother and sister up yet?" Lucy nodded yes, and Mrs. Pevensie proceeded to holler down the hallway. "Edmund, Susan! Hurry up and eat or we'll miss all the good food at the store!"

Since the war had been dragging on, the Pevensie family and millions like them were forced to wait in line for food and hope that there would be something left by the time that they got there. Each of them would receive a little something, and they all went in the hopes that at least one of them would not leave empty-handed. It took the whole morning every Saturday.

"Coming Mum!" came the deepening, though still not fully-changed, voice of Edmund.

Susan didn't bother to reply, and instead just showed up in the kitchen doorway. "Morning, Mum, Lucy, Peter," she said, taking the nearest chair and sitting in it. Just as Edmund barged into the kitchen, there was a knock on the front door and Peter frowned.

"I'll get it, Mum," he offered, turning and exiting through the living room.

He reached the door just as a second knock came and pulled it open to reveal two men standing on the front stoop, garbed in dress uniforms with solemn expressions on their faces. One was wearing the uniform of a Royal Air Force officer, the other, a younger man, appeared to be in the Army.

Peter's eyes widened and he felt his heart leap into his throat as the older officer spoke. "Is there a Mrs. Helen Pevensie in?" he asked, clutching a piece of paper in his white-gloved hands.

"Uh…uh…MUM!" Peter's voice held a desperate plea and it brought Mrs. Pevensie scurrying into the hallway from the kitchen. She skidded to a halt when she saw the men in the doorway and her eldest son holding it open, his knuckles white and trembling.

"Helen Pevensie?" the RAF officer asked, but not really needing to since it was obvious that it was she. "It is with deepest regret that we bring news of your husband, Henry George Pevensie." He faltered when Peter's breathing seemed to stop (which it actually did), then continued. "Pilot Officer Pevensie was killed in action during an engagement with the enemy in September. He died heroically and you and your family have our deepest condolences."

Peter could sense his mother fall before it happened and quickly released the door and lunged toward his mother, whose legs had collapsed out from underneath her. The younger of the two soldiers caught the door as Peter caught his mother. She let out a loud moan as her eldest son lowered her into the nearest seat and Ed, Susan, and Lucy tumbled into the room.

"Peter, what-?" Susan stopped dead, Ed and Lucy smacking into her in their haste. Her eyes took in the scene and then she raised a shaking hand to her mouth and sobbed out, "No…no…no."

Edmund's eyebrows furrowed as his eyes darted from the soldiers, to his weeping mother in Peter's arms and the solemn expressions all around. "Dad?" he asked quietly, grabbing Lucy's hand as she reached up for him.

"I'm sorry, young man," the younger soldier said. He stepped forward and extended the paper in his hand towards Peter. The blonde stared at it, blinking, then reached out and took it. It trembled violently as he opened it and read: _We are deeply sorry for your loss. Stop. Henry Pevensie to be awarded posthumous medal for services rendered. Stop. Pilot Officer Pevensie died heroically in battle and will not be forgotten. Stop._

The paper fluttered to the floor as Peter folded in on his mother and let himself cry. The two were quickly swamped by Edmund, Susan, and Lucy, and the five Pevensies shared their grief while the two soldiers quietly closed the door behind them and moved on to the next unlucky family.

* * *

_November 12, 1940…_

Helen Pevensie's hair was unkempt and her clothing rumpled, but she didn't care. She hadn't since she'd gotten the news of her husband's death. She didn't ask Peter if there was anything interesting in the mail anymore – there couldn't be. Not anymore.

Her eldest son cast worried eyes on her slumped form, hunched over the stove, as he hurried outside to collect the post. It had been a long, hard month since the news of Henry Pevensie's death had reached his family and in that month, his widow had not been doing well. She went about her business with a listlessness and rarely, if ever, smiled.

Peter had tried to step up and manage his family, but it was hard for the 16-year old to manage in a world where one his age garnered little respect. It was frustrating, because Peter had once been High King Peter the Magnificent. A ruler of a country. A leader in battle. An adult. Now, he was just a boy like so many others who had lost fathers – trying to keep his family together.

As he entered the house he reached a letter in the pile that caused him to falter, nearly tripping on the welcome mat just inside the door. The letter was addressed to _Mr. Peter Pevensie, 25 Dorset Drive, Finchley._ The return address stated that the letter was from the Department of the Army.

Swallowing, he turned the letter over and slipped his finger under the flap ripping it open. Inside was a neatly folded letter, which he extracted and with shaking fingers, unfolded.

_Mr. Peter Pevensie, you are hereby ordered to report for active duty with the infantry as per the draft recently instituted by the Department of the Army. Failure to report will result in arrest and imprisonment. The train departs Finchley station at 0700 sharp on the 15__th__ of November._

Peter crumpled the letter in his fist as he clenched his hand tightly. This couldn't be happening. He was only sixteen and he had a family to take care of. They had already lost Mr. Pevensie to the war, and now the army wanted to take him from his family too. "This'll kill Mum," he whispered.

"What, dear?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, leaning into the living room from the kitchen to find her eldest son standing there with a near-death grip on a piece of paper. "What's that you've got there, Peter?" She stepped over to Peter and, surprisingly, reached out and took the envelope from his hand. He hadn't thought that she'd reach for that and hadn't held it tightly. She turned it over and her mouth opened in a gasp. "What'd they say, Peter?" she asked looking up at him now.

"Uh…um…Mum, let's eat something first, okay?" Peter asked.

Mrs. Pevensie shook her head. "Peter, what does the letter say? Were they wrong about your father? Is he alive somewhere? Give it here, Peter." She held out a steady hand and Peter stared at it like it was something out of a horror show.

"What's going on in here?" Susan asked, entering the room still tying a bow into Lucy's hair as they headed for the kitchen. Edmund came in from the kitchen, still munching on a piece of toast.

Peter was still clutching the paper and now looked fretfully from his mother to his siblings. He knew there was no escaping it and he sighed heavily before extending the paper to his mother.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he said, before turning and moving past her into the hallway and into his own room, closing the door with a soft "click" behind himself.

Mrs. Pevensie's eyes scanned the paper quickly and with a cry she dropped it as if it had scalded her hands. She quickly pushed past her three youngest children and headed straight for her eldest's room, sobbing now.

Susan stooped down and lifted the paper from the ground, smoothing the wrinkles out of it as Edmund and Lucy crowded around her. Her eyes skimmed the letter quickly. "Oh no!" she cried. "Peter's been drafted!"

Edmund looked up at his elder sister with wide eyes. "Drafted? As in, into the army? As in, they're going to send him off to war?" His head snapped to the bedroom door that was still open and through which there was still a loud crying. He turned on his heel and hurried towards it, his sisters right behind him.

Peter was sitting on his bed, with Mrs. Pevensie in his arms, her head buried in his shoulder as she cried. He was blinking back his own tears as he lifted his head and his eyes met those of his brother and sisters. There was a silent apology in them, as if he needed to apologize for something that was out of his control.

"Oh, Peter," Susan breathed, hurrying forward and wrapping her arms around her brother from behind. Edmund clung to their mother, and Lucy wedged herself into the Pevensie tangle somehow. It was a long while before they separated and wiped their eyes.

"I wish you could run away," Helen said with a small shudder, "but I know you can't. Oh, Peter, promise me you'll come back to me!"

He gulped and shook his head. "Mum, you know I can't." He watched her tears start to fall again. "But I can promise to be extra careful…it's the best I can give you."

She nodded and enveloped him in another hug before standing. "The 15th is in three days. We'd best make the most of those days." She hurried from the room, muttering about making a good, hearty meal, leaving the four siblings in Peter's room.

"Pete?" Edmund was the first to breach the silence. "Peter, are you all right?"

His blonde-haired brother shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Ed. I mean, we rode into battles all the time in Narnia, but this is so very different. I'm not sure how I feel. I just know that I hate to leave all of you behind. And if something were to happen to me…"

"Stop it!" Lucy called out. "Don't even _think_ that, Peter. Nothing can happen to you. Aslan wouldn't let it. He just wouldn't." She flung her arms around her brother, who lifted her into his lap. "He wouldn't, would he?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know, Lu. I don't know how much sway he has here. This isn't Narnia. But come on, we should stay with Mum right now. She's going to need the support."

The other three nodded and filed solemnly out of the room to rejoin their mother in the kitchen.

* * *

_Seven months later…May, 1941…_

In the months since Peter's departure, the entire family had taken to attending church every Sunday and were currently scrambling around in a mad dash, trying to get ready and out the door in time for the service.

"Mum! Where's my muffler?" Edmund called out, rummaging through his closet. "I can't find it anywhere!"

His mother's disembodied voice called back, "Check the closet by the front door, Edmund! And hurry up, we're late!"

Slamming the door to his own closet closed, Edmund bounded to the living room and opened the closet near the front door. "There it is," he murmured to himself with a small frown. He was just about to hurry off to find his shoes when a knock at the front door. "Wonder who that could be?" he muttered as he distractedly opened the door, still tugging lint off of his muffler. "Yes, can I help y-?"

He froze.

Soldiers.

Carrying a letter.

Wearing dress uniforms and solemn expressions.

He felt like a freight train had just run him over and he clutched the doorjamb until his knuckles turned white. One of the soldiers looked familiar and when he spoke it was with a wobble in his voice. "Is there a Mrs. Helen Pevensie in?" he asked quietly.

"Who's at the door, Ed?"

The woman in question came into the room, shrugging on her coat, and looked up. She froze, her eyes wide.

"Mrs. Pevensie?" the young man asked, wringing his hands together. Upon her nod, he continued. "It is with deepest regrets that we bring you news of your son, Peter Michael Pevensie." With a shaky breath, he continued. "Corporal Pevensie died in Greece in early April. You and your family have our deepest condolences."

There was a thump as Helen Pevensie hit the ground and the young soldier gasped. Edmund released the door and ran the short distance to his mother, the soldier's words not sinking in yet in his haste to help her to a seat.

Susan and Lucy were in the room too, now, but neither had moved a muscle since the dreaded words left the man's mouth. "Not Peter. Not Peter too." Mrs. Pevensie kept repeating those two phrases over and over, rocking slowly back and forth. Edmund kept a hand on his mother's shoulder and looked shakily back at the soldiers.

They stepped into the house this time, instead of leaving the family to their grief as last time. The younger of the two, who had looked familiar, stooped in front of Mrs. Pevensie. "Madam, I am so very sorry for you and your family. I was floored to have to visit your home for a second time in less than a year."

That got Helen's attention and she looked up at the soldier, realizing that he had accompanied the messenger last time. This time, _he_ had been the messenger. "I…I…my husband and son. When will this war end? When it's taken my Edmund too?" She gripped her only remaining son's hand tightly and the young soldier shook his head.

"No, madam. They can't draft your remaining son. He won't be taken from you by the army, madam."

Helen let out a small breath and reached for the paper the soldier still held. "A posthumous medal," the older soldier said, speaking for the first time. "Actually, one of many he received. Your son was quite the fierce young man, it would appear."

Edmund, Susan, and Lucy exchanged knowing glances through their tears. "Yes, he was magnificent," Lucy managed before turning and running from the room with a sob. Susan hurried after her.

The soldier stood. "If you need anything, please contact us," he handed Edmund a small business card with a recruitment office listed on it. "It's the least we can do for the service of your husband and son."

They left quietly and Edmund drew his mother into a strong embrace. They said nothing. There was nothing to say.

* * *

_April 6, 1941…Greece…_

"Corporal, get your squad up and moving. We're retreating to this position. We're getting pummeled here." Lieutenant Ramsey pointed a smudged finger at a small red dot on the map of the surrounding Greek countryside that was spread out in front of him. "Be quick about it, we're about to be vastly outnumbered."

Corporal Peter Pevensie, scruffy blonde hair peeking out from under his army-issued cap, nodded and hefted his rifle strap higher on his shoulder, snapping out a crisp salute and "Yes, sir," before turning on his heel and hoofing it back to his squad.

When the Germans, supported by the Italians, Hungarians, and Bulgarians, had rushed into Greece intent on conquering the area, Peter's division had been one of those that had been quickly mobilized and sent to try and route them.

Peter barely restrained himself from huffing at that memory. The British, American, and New Zealand forces were completely uncoordinated, and it was no wonder they were about to retreat to the island of Crete. Rushing about the continent had taken it's toll on the men, and Peter's skin and bones look was proof enough of that.

" 'Bout time, at that," he muttered to himself as he ran towards his nearby squad, keeping low and quick as he did so. "Third squad," he called out as he ran, "Pack it up! We're leaving!"

There were grunts in the affirmative and a half-dozen "About times" as the mud-caked soldiers, weary from the hard rain, gathered what little they had and prepared to retreat.

The sun was beginning to dip and Peter glared up at the heavy clouds that were moving in. It looked like rain – again. A fellow corporal, echoing Peter's orders to his own squad, came up beside the blonde. "How goes it, Peter?"

The latter shrugged. "So-so, Arty." He glanced toward where he knew the German lines to be, before shifting his gaze to the nearby woods that had up until now been a bit of a dead zone. He had a funny feeling it wasn't empty, and he'd had that feeling for a few days now.

Arty frowned. "You're looking at the woods again mate."

Peter sighed. "Just a feeling, Arty. Just a feeling."

The dark-haired corporal, who eerily reminded Peter of his brother Edmund, let out a deep breath and looked at the woods more closely. "Your 'just a feelings' have an uncanny way of being right, Peter." He tugged on the strap of his rifle as it slipped down his shoulder. "It won't be too soon to get out of here, that's for sure. I could do with a little less mud for a while. I feel like it'll never come off."

He was about to go on when a sharp report sounded from the direction of the woods. Peter's gaze snapped to the woods, all of his attention focused on them and he missed the jerk of his neighbor. He didn't however, miss the gurgling gasp or the body slumping against him. "ARTY!" he cried out, arms outstretched to catch the falling corporal as more reports whined and tufts of dirt were kicked up around them. He saw his friend's eyes roll up until only the whites were showing. Blood ran freely down the young man's chest from a ghastly neck wound. He was dead.

Peter's battle instincts kicked in and he lowered Arty to the ground, remaining low as he rushed along the lines. "RETREAT! RETREAT!" he yelled. "They're attacking from the woods, we have to get out of here before they surround us!" He shoved a young private hard in the direction the squads were pulling back and turned to move to Arty's squad, who he knew was now without leadership. As he ran, he felt the occasional bullet tear into his clothing, though thankfully few hit his skin. In the back of his mind, he thought that this was a very bad idea, but the High King in him refused to let him leave anyone behind if he could help it.

"Second Squad! Corporal Smythe is dead! You need to leave now! Go quickly!"

He gestured away to where his own squad had already evacuated. The squad had seen Peter around and knew him well. They wasted no time in following his orders. He urged them along, firing his rifle at the incoming German troops who were swarming from the nearby woods.

Machine guns and rifles were firing from both sides, hoping to take out as many men as they could. Peter quickly found himself hard-pressed to keep out of the line of fire and realized he was in a very precarious position.

So, he turned and took a step in the direction he had come from, only to freeze. Somehow, unbeknownst to him, the Germans had gotten around behind him. Now, one stood six feet away, rifle and bayonet leveled at Peter.

With a small grimace, the man fired and Peter was knocked backward and to the ground before he had a chance to move an inch in any direction. His hands clamped on his lower left side and his mind flashed to images of Edmund and the White Witch's wand, embedded in his brother's flesh. Was this sharp, agonizing pain that stole his breath away what his brother had felt on the fields of Beruna?

He didn't have time to think on it before another shot was fired, hitting him in the right shoulder. The double impact of the pain knocked him unconscious. The troops advanced along formerly British and French occupied land, routing out the retreating forces and killing anyone in their way. In their wake, they left a trail of corpses – young, old, fair-haired or dark, plump or rail-thin.

The attack had been swift and furious.

Hours later, the rain started to fall and with it came consciousness for one wounded soldier, presumed dead. Peter Pevensie gasped as awareness returned to him, his torso and shoulder on fire and the muddy ground around him rapidly swelling with water.

With a strength born of desperation, Peter rolled over and dragged himself along the ground to a place slightly higher than where he had fallen. There he collapsed and sobbed in pain, praying someone would find him before the water rose too high or he bled to death.

Unfortunately for Peter, the first voices he heard were decidedly not British and he couldn't understand a word they were saying. He jerked as a wave of pain ripped through him and a pained gasp escaped him. The voices ceased immediately.

Then there was a man, soaked to the bone, dressed in what Peter vaguely recognized as a German medic's uniform. Kneeling in the mud beside Peter, the man was speaking, but the boy couldn't understand him and shook his head weakly.

Instead of leaving him, the man reached forward and searched for Peter's ID tags inside his shirt. He frowned, as they were caked with mud and not legible. He looked down at the bloody mess of the young man's torso. When he asked the boy if he was a soldier, he received a confused look and then a small nod, which was all Peter could manage, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to remain awake. The young man whimpered in pain and held his breath, then jerked when it was hard to draw in more. The man laid a hand on his chest and leaned down to whisper soothingly in his ear.

Peter's eyes slid shut and he fell limp, never uttering a word. The German medic glanced around. Taking in the barely discernible features of the uniform, he knew this soldier wasn't German, but he didn't see any other medics – he expected they were retreating with the rest of the army -- and he couldn't just leave the boy here.

So, he acted.

Tugging Peter upward, he cut the uniform shirt from the boy's body, leaving only a white undershirt and mud-covered uniform pants. Since the both would be removed when the boy was operated on, the medic knew he could fool his fellow soldiers into thinking the boy was a wounded German soldier. So long as he didn't speak. Seeing as the medic was unsure he would even live, he doubted that would be a problem. The blonde hair and blue eyes gave the boy the appearance of a German anyway.

Reaching down, he pulled the ID tags off the boy's neck and tossed them into the mud.

Lifting the young man up, grimacing at the lack of weight, he hurried away toward the nearest ambulance and climbed aboard, tapping the driver to let him know this one was now full.

* * *

It had been exhausting. It had taken a long time and an ever-widening incision to locate the bullet inside the young soldier, but Heinrich Mulner had found it and discarded it with a disgusted look on his face, muttering about damned wars and dying children.

He sighed as he realized the young man's chances were rather slim. But his resemblance to his own son had been so uncanny that Heinrich could not leave the British boy behind to die of his wounds or drown in the muck.

As the nurses moved the gurney out of the operating ward, the doctor peeled the bloodied gloves from his hands and hurried to wash the blood off before running a hand through his hair and moving into the recovery ward. He watched solemnly as the nurses settled the young man on a bed.

He was pale, too pale really, but there was nothing to be done for it. He could only hope the boy would live, as it was out of his capable hands now.

* * *

_Two and a half-months later …June 1941…_

The blonde-haired youth was so still. His chest moved, yes, but the rest of him hadn't in a long time. While the young man had regained consciousness a few times over the long weeks, and Mulner had been able to get him to play along with his ruse, and had even managed to get him to walk around once, infection after infection had plagued him since.

To ward off more infections, the doctor had moved the boy, Peter he had learned, to an isolated room in the back of the hospital.

One day, all work that went into protecting his identity paid off.

Blue eyes fluttered, slowly wrenched open by the stubborn boy that sported them. A nurse noticed the struggle and called Dr. Mulner over. The latter leaned over the boy and spoke. "Peter. Can hear me?"

Peter's gaze shifted lazily to the man and he licked his lips before a tiny voice managed to say, "Yes."

Dr. Mulner smiled. "Good, good. Perhaps this time, you will get well."

Peter's eyes closed again and he sighed. His breathing was easier than it had been since he'd arrived. A good sign. Dr. Mulner took his temperature, and while a little high, it was not worrisome. He looked to the nurse, a good friend who knew the young man was not a German soldier, and smiled. "He may yet live, Helga, he may yet live."

* * *

It was a bright, sunny day in August, 1941. But the blonde-haired youth slowly inching up the walkway toward number 25 Dorset Drive, Finchley, was not smiling. He was too busy trying not to collapse in exhaustion.

After being smuggled out of the hospital by Dr. Mulner and Helga, it had been hard to find his way back to England. He had finally managed to reach Crete and then secure a flight back to the mainland on a cargo plane, the crew of which taking pity on the boy obviously in a great deal of pain. No one had believed him when he said he was a soldier, cared for by a German doctor and finally returning home after a few months. He had no proof, no ID tags or uniform to back him up.

For two months, he had traveled, stayed away from German troops, and trekked until he had caught another plane into England.

None of that mattered now. He was nearly to the door and all that mattered was reaching it.

A shaky hand reached out and knocked three times, slow and measured knocks that echoed in the quiet morning. No one was out and about right now, but churchgoers were undoubtedly preparing to leave.

The blonde heard scuffling on the other side of the door before it was flung wide open and a young, dark-haired boy opened it, calling out in frustration, "For the love of the lion, no we don't want to buy a vacuum doo-hickey!"

Dark eyes finally looked out at the man in the doorway and widened so much it looked like they were going to pop right out of the boy's head. "Puh…Puh…MUM!" In seconds, Peter Pevensie was enveloped in a hug from his younger brother Edmund and he winced hard, trying to pull away.

Edmund felt the jerking and immediately released the body he had never thought to see again. "Peter?!" He was nearly bowled over by his mother, who had seen the familiar face and blonde hair from the kitchen doorway.

She slid to a stop as Peter flinched away and held up a shaking hand, his left clamped to his side as he hunched over with a wince. Mrs. Pevensie moved slowly, reaching out and pulling Peter forward into a light embrace, tears of astonishment and joy pouring out of her in torrents.

Lucy and Susan skidded to the door in stocking-clad feet and with wide eyes stared at the disheveled blonde in their mother's grasp. Peter's face was still scrunched up in pain and he had only wrapped his right arm around his mother. But it was something.

"You're alive! Peter! Oh Aslan!" Lucy didn't even care that she had said the name of the great lion in front of their mother, not like Helen Pevensie would have heard it anyway, so focused on her son was she.

Edmund was frowning and wringing his hands as he watched the pinched expression of his brother grow even worse. "Mum, why don't we let Peter in, he looks tired."

Mrs. Pevensie relinquished her death-grip hug on her son, but kept his hand in hers as she moved into the house. She didn't notice that he was struggling to walk, but Edmund did and he put a steadying hand on his brother's shoulder, which earned him a pained smile, but a smile no less.

"How can this be?" Susan exclaimed, coming forward now with Lucy bouncing up and down beside her. "They told us you were dead, Peter!"

_That_ drew the young man's attention. "Dead?" He frowned. "They must have just assumed when they left," he muttered, hand still clenched tightly to his side and drawing the concerned gaze of the ever over-protective King Edmund the Just.

"Oh, but now you're here and you are never leaving me again!" Helen reclaimed her position of hugging Peter, still oblivious, it would seem, to the fact it sent him reeling. But even though it hurt, he would not move her. He let himself relax against the softness of his mother and buried his head in her shoulder as she stroked his hair and sobbed.

The three other siblings looked on, unsure what to do. They were bubbling with excitement at having Peter back, but also budding with curiosity as to why they'd been told he was dead. And Edmund, in particular, wanted to make sure his brother was physically all right – since he didn't really look it.

"Mum?" Peter said with a slightly high pitch to his voice -- a pained pinch. "Could you ease up, now? Please. I…I'd love to stay like this forever, but it kind of hurts some."

Mrs. Pevensie lurched back as if she'd been slapped and her eyes fell to where Peter was unobtrusively clutching himself. Her eyes glistened with yet more tears. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to hurt you!"

He reached forward and brushed the tears aside. "Don't worry, Mum, you didn't know."

Free of all arms now, Peter shifted uncomfortably and frowned. "I don't suppose someone could help me sit?" he asked shyly, gesturing vaguely to where he had yet to release his side as reason for his inability to do it himself.

Edmund nodded and slung Peter's right arm over his shoulders so he could lower him onto the seat. Peter sighed in relief when he was seated and finally flashed his family the smile knew and dearly loved.

Susan surged to her feet then. "I'll get us some tea, you must be thirsty Peter!"

Her brother nodded at that and watched as Susan rushed off to make the family drinks. A small smile crept up on his face at the decidedly domestic action that he realized now he had sorely missed in the trenches of war.

The remaining Pevensies were uncertain how to start the conversation, so Peter took the first step. "I'm sorry they told you I was dead. It must have been wicked hard, that. If I'd known, I would have tried to get word to you sooner…" He sighed. "Though, I don't know it would have been possible."

Edmund frowned. "Pete, where have you been all this time?"

His frown deepened when Peter bit his lip. It must have been really bad for the question to bother him that much. But Peter looked up and met his brother's gaze and said, "I guess I better start at the beginning. We should wait for Susan…"

And so when his sister returned, Peter launched into the tale of how he was wounded, taken in by a caring German medic, put back together and after months of recuperation and then months of travel, had managed to return home finally.

By the time he finished, his voice was a mere whisper and he was refusing to meet the eyes of any of his family. It wasn't shame, no, but guilt. Guilt for hurting them by getting hurt and guilt for making them worry.

Edmund and Susan knew their brother had a thing for piling on unearned guilt, and took it into their own hands this time. "Peter, look at me," Susan said, kneeling in front of him. "I know you feel horrible about what we went through, thinking you'd died. But you can't blame yourself…don't grimace at me, Peter Pevensie, I know that look…"

Helen watched the interplay with interest, uncertain why it seemed her children were suddenly wise beyond their years and closer than ever. Lucy put a hand on her arm and drew Helen's gaze to her. The young girl smiled and gestured to Edmund, Susan and Peter. "He always blames himself," she said. "For everything. Even stuff that isn't his fault…and Su and Ed always try to get him to see reason."

Mrs. Pevensie watched Peter look over at Lucy and purse his lips. Then they tightened and his face pinched for a minute as he rode out what was obviously a wave of pain. She was surprised when Edmund beat her to the punch and reached out to force Peter to lay back.

His brother tried to protest, but was in no condition to thwart a worried Edmund. He looked between his family members before returning his focus to Ed, who was busy unbuttoning the plain white shirt Peter was wearing.

That done, he pushed aside the over shirt and untucked the undershirt from Peter's black pants revealing a reddened bandage that had been wrapped all the way around his brother's torso. Peter grimaced as Edmund reached into his mother's sewing kit and withdrew scissors. Without looking up, Ed called out to his sister. "Lu, can you get new bandages from the first aid kit?"

The girl nodded and hurried off. Peter mouthed a 'thank you' to Edmund, glad that he had sent the youngest Pevensie on an errand. In a moment, Ed was gingerly peeling away the soiled bandage.

He gasped in dismay.

It looked like Peter had been nearly sliced in half by a sword. A long incision marred his torso nearly from one side to the other. It was still oozing blood, which confused all of them but Peter, who knew it was because he had aggravated it a little too much trying to get home. Mrs. Pevensie and Susan both gasped and Edmund's frown got so deep it was frightening.

"How did this happen? I thought you said you were shot, Peter, and months ago at that," he muttered, partly to himself, but partly to his brother. Peter breathed in sharply when Edmund gently wiped some dried blood from his side, but did answer.

"I was," he said, grimacing. "But…" his voice lowered and he glanced around for Lucy. "But they couldn't find it, so they had to keep moving around until they did. That's why it's so…long."

"And the blood?" Susan prompted.

Peter frowned. "I got jostled a lot trying to get home. It reopened a bit is all. It'll be fine in time," he said quietly.

They heard Lucy approaching and Edmund let the old bandage lay back over the wound, hiding it from the young girl's view. Even though Lucy had healed many a wounded Narnian with her cordial, all it ever required was a drop in the mouth, never her seeing the mortal wounds.

"Here." Lucy thrust a wad of bandages into Edmund's hands and settled back into her mother's lap. Helen, taking a cue from Edmund, lifted her daughter and with a plastered on smile carried her into the kitchen vowing to whip up a quick batch of homemade, warm cookies to go with the tea Susan had made.

Edmund and Susan waited until they were gone, then Edmund revealed the wound again and rebound it. Peter managed to remain quiet throughout, but clenched his teeth so hard at times it was a wonder he didn't crack them.

"I wish we had Lu's cordial," Susan muttered. Peter nodded emphatically between two pained gasps. Finally, Edmund was finished and he levered his brother into a more comfortable position, reclined lengthwise along the couch with his back to the arm.

The three eldest siblings sat in silence for a few minutes before Edmund suddenly darted away. Susan moved to go after him, but Peter extended his hands to her and wordlessly begged her to help him up.

She frowned, but did so.

With a grunt, Peter wobbled then moved slowly down the hallway, using the walls for support. He reached his brother's room and without knocking, went in. Edmund had his back to the door and it was shaking with silent sobs.

Hearing the creak of the door, he sniffled and wiped furiously at his face, but didn't turn. "Su, I'm fine. You can go back to Peter."

A small smile graced Peter's face as he reached his brother. He said nothing, just reached out and spun Edmund around by the shoulder. The younger brother let out a half-restrained sob, at which point Peter drew him into a hug, half leaning on him for support.

"Shhh, Ed," he whispered. "I know what you're thinking, that you hurt me when you hugged me and when you cleaned me up. But really, I'm all right, you needn't feel bad."

That only increased his brother's sobs and Peter sighed, leaning his head down against Edmund's dark hair. They stayed like that until Peter began to tremble from fatigue and too much activity.

Ever alert, Edmund noticed and lightly – very lightly – smacked Peter's left arm. "You shouldn't be up," he said, chiding his elder brother. "Come on, let's get you back down and comfortable, oh mighty High King."

Peter smiled at that and nodded.

As they passed Edmund's desk, he pulled his brother to a stop. "Hey, that's my letter," he said, pointing at a well-creased piece of paper on the desk. Dirt and ink smudges decorated the edges, and Peter's elegant scrawl flowed across the page.

_Dear Mum, Susan, Edmund and Lucy,_

_Things are well here. I can't tell you where here _is_ because of regulations,  
but I am doing fine and yes, mum, I'm eating. Whenever I get the chance  
to eat. It's been a long time since I've been able to write, but a few things  
have happened since I last did._

_First, I've been promoted to Corporal and am now in command of a small squad of men. It's a bit surreal to think I have these soldiers' lives in my hands, but so far everything has gone well._

_I have also made a good friend, another Corporal named Arthur Smythe,  
though everyone calls him "Arty." He's a little older than I am, looks a lot  
like Edmund, actually. Maybe that's why I like him so much. Whenever I  
see him, I can't help but think of you, Ed. I miss having you around._

_Mum, someday I hope you get to visit some of the places here. I'm in a  
beautiful region, despite the war I can tell it would be a great place to  
vacation._

_Susan, I hope you aren't reading _all_ the time and are at least having a  
little fun. You need to have enough fun for both you and I, since I can't  
have fun for myself._

_Lucy, I loved the poem you sent me and I keep it in my coat pocket and  
take it out to read it when I need a little cheering up. I'm sure _He_ would  
be proud of me too._

_Ed, there are too many things I want to say to you and I'm afraid I just  
can't say most of them in a letter. I think you know what I mean by that  
so I won't elaborate. I miss you._

_I love all of you and can't wait to see you again in person._

_Love,  
Peter_

"You kept this?" Peter said, fingering the letter. "I didn't think I was writing anything special."

Edmund took the letter from Peter's hand and folded it carefully before tucking it into a drawer in his desk. "This came a few days before we got word you'd been killed," Edmund whispered. "I fished it out of the rubbish bin and have kept it ever since."

The brothers were silent before Edmund shook his head and said, "Come on," before leading Peter back to the living room. Soon the whole family was reassembled and they began to fill Peter in on what had happened while he was away.

It was only a matter of moments before Lucy had to grab the teacup from her brother, for Peter had fallen fast asleep, his head resting against the back of the couch and his hands tucked neatly across his middle.

All talking ceased and the four Pevensies simply sat and enjoyed their brother's quiet breathing. He was back. He was alive. He was relatively well. It was far more than they could have ever hoped for last night.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well, here is the next installment. Not too much excitement, just getting them from place to place, which I felt had to be done. I did quite a bit of skipping in the first part and wanted to slow this down. For those who wanted more Peter point-of-view, I have been thinking how to incorporate some of his experiences via memories/dreams. Didn't do it here, but stay tuned!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised since it was originally posted. It now includes an additional scene._

**Part Two:**

Edmund, Lucy, Susan and Helen Pevensie were loathe to leave the room.

They each silently feared that if they did, Peter wouldn't be there when they returned. That it would all turn out to be a very nice dream, but not real. That he would be gone. Dead, as they'd been told.

So when they were all jolted to awareness by a string of loudly muttered curses from a well-loved voice, small smiles graced their faces. Edmund was the first to open his eyes and take in the sight of his older brother trying in vain to untangle himself from his youngest sister's embrace and his blanket without aggravating his already irritated wound.

Mrs. Pevensie came to his rescue by shaking Lucy awake and drawing her off into the kitchen, where the two set about preparing a hearty breakfast. Susan stretched like a cat and smiled at her older brother. "Feeling better?" she asked.

Peter gingerly tried a small stretch and was pleasantly surprised to feel little pain. He smiled at that and nodded. "Much."

Edmund stood and brushed lint off his pants. "Well, need to use the loo then?" He held out a hand without waiting for Peter to answer yes or no, knowing his brother, being human and all, would definitely need to use the bathroom.

He was pleasantly surprised when Peter managed to rise with a minimal amount of pain in his expression and walk somewhat steadily to the lavatory. Edmund idled outside the door to wait for his brother, drawing a decidedly exasperated sigh and eye roll from the latter upon exiting the toilet.

"Ed, you don't have to hover. I got from Greece to England, I'm not going to collapse between the loo and the kitchen, you know." Peter smiled lightly, laying a hand on his brother's arm and using it, albeit barely, to steadily enter the kitchen where his mother and sisters were setting out eggs and bacon.

He was about to dig in to his eggs with he noticed four envelopes on the table near his mother's seat. "Mum," he said, eyes narrowed, "what are those? They look like boarding school letters…"

Mrs. Pevensie gasped and nodded, picking them up. "I had totally forgotten about them. These came yesterday, just before you arrived home, Peter. The new school year starts next week! There's even one for you here. They must not have gotten the news we did from the Army." She frowned and shuddered at the memory, but recovered quickly and shuffled through the letters and withdrew one, handing it to Peter, who perused it with an odd expression on his face.

"It'll be weird to go to school after…" he cut himself off, not voicing the thought partly because it would upset his family and partly because he didn't wish to remember most of it. Placing the letter beside his plate and thoughtfully taking a few bites of eggs, he added, "But I suppose it would be best to get on with things."

His mother smiled fondly. "You always took things head on, Peter. Never a moment's hesitation."

Peter's gaze dropped as he remembered a time when he _had_ wavered. The eve of the battle of Beruna, when he had despaired upon learning of Aslan's disappearance from camp; he hadn't taken the battle head on without some help that time around. His gaze shifted briefly to Edmund, the one who had given him the courage to go ahead with the battle.

But he quickly shook off the thoughts and continued eating. He was aware the others were casting glances his way more often than not, but it didn't bother him for once. In fact, it felt good to be worried about after so long in the army where he had felt like just another body in uniform.

The family finished the meal in silence and Mrs. Pevensie went about preparing for work. She lingered at the doorway, clinging longer than usual to Peter before she started down the walkway. Every few steps she would turn and glance back at her son, who obligingly remained in the doorway until she was out of sight.

Peter turned around and was immediately bombarded by Lucy. "How do you feel? Oh I wish we could go back to Narnia, I could heal you right up with my cordial. Do you need anything? Can I help you somehow…?"

She trailed off when Peter laid both his hands on her shoulders and smiled. "Lu. I'm all right, really. I just need to take it easy. Why don't you come sit down with me and we'll play a game or something?"

Lucy nodded enthusiastically and the two spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon playing board game after board game. Edmund and Susan eventually joined them, though Susan didn't play – instead she settled into a nearby armchair and began to read a thick, dusty tome she had dragged out from her room.

* * *

The week before the start of school term went by fast.

But there was one important thing Peter knew he had to do, though he was a nervous wreck about it. The morning before they were to catch the train to school, he stopped Edmund just outside his room and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them.

"Pete? Are you all right?" Edmund asked as his brother dragged him awkwardly to the other side of the room, away from the door. "Why are we practically in your closet?"

Releasing Edmund's arm, Peter glanced at the door one more time before answering. "I have to go to the nearest Army officials and report that I'm not actually dead, Ed," he said quietly. "I don't know if they are going to discharge me or not. I don't want Mum to know where I'm going."

Edmund frowned. "Don't you mean _we_, Peter," he said. "Because you aren't tramping about London alone when the best bit of walking you can do is a shuffle."

For once, Peter didn't argue.

"Fine, us," he said. "But if they don't let me come home, you'll have to tell the girls and Mum what happened." Edmund bristled beside him, shaking his head.

"They can't expect you to fight again!" he hissed. "It's been five months and you can still barely walk. Surely that counts for something!"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, I'm just warning you. I want to have all possible outcomes covered," he said. "I planned to just go to the local recruitment office; they should be able to take care of this."

It was Edmund's turn to shrug now. "Sure, if you say so. When do we leave?"

Peter frowned. "Ten minutes," he said. "The sooner we take care of this the better."

((((((((((((( ))))))))))))))

Forty minutes later, Peter and Edmund stood outside the recruitment office. Or rather, Edmund stood and Peter leaned heavily on him. They appeared to be arguing as Army personnel hurried in and out the doors to the office, carrying boxes and other office supplies.

"Why can't I come in with you?" Edmund asked. Again.

Peter shook his head. "I'll be fine for a few minutes, Ed," he said. "And the place is obviously bustling. You would just be in the way. Heck, _I'm _probably going to be in the way."

Pulling away from Edmund, the blonde brother took a faltering step toward the door, holding his breath for a moment until he regained his balance. His legs were shaking lightly, but that was probably just because of the train ride.

In the window glass he could see Edmund ready to leap at a moment's notice to catch him if he fell. A small smile crept across his face at the thought, and shaking his head he opened the door and entered.

The inside of the office was even more chaotic than the entrance and Peter had to be careful as people streamed around him. Barely dodging a man with far too many boxes in his arms, Peter drew to a stop in front of the only desk still set up and waited for the Corporal to acknowledge him.

"Something I can do for you?" The man said, not actually looking up the papers he was sifting through, or putting down the phone against his ear.

Clearing his throat, Peter spoke.

"Um. I'm Corporal Peter Pevensie. I'm here to report in and to have the Army's records changed to show that I am actually alive, not dead as they appear to show," he said, trying not to fidget when the man showed no sign of having heard him.

He obviously had, though.

"Why would there _be_ such a mistake?"

Peter sighed. "I was wounded in Greece and was in the hospital for three months," he said. "My ID tags were lost and no one believed me to be a soldier. Took me two months to get home with my injury, and I can still barely walk."

The man looked up for a moment at the hunched figure in front of him then back at his paperwork, pausing to bark something into the phone. There was a great crash behind Peter as the man spoke and all the younger boy heard was "Discharge?"

Peter nodded in response.

"Fill these out."

Peter did as he was told quickly and then pushed the papers back across the desk, an odd expression on his face. _Surely it can't be this easy_, he thought to himself.

But the man waved him off with an "I'll take care of it," and Peter frowned, but moved off as he was being strongly urged to do.

Behind him, the Corporal collected a pile of papers and pushed them into a box. Another pile, he shoved off the desk into a garbage bin. Then he stood, slammed the phone down, and grumbled, "Damn headquarters."

(((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))

"All finished?" Edmund asked incredulously as Peter shuffled out the door, every so often glancing back at the Corporal who was now rushing about the office like the others. "I mean, no exam?"

Peter shrugged. "He said discharge and he'd take care of it," he said. "It seems a bit odd." He contemplated going back in and making sure the man had actually listened to him, but the word discharge had been unmistakable.

Wobbling a little, he shook his head and looked at Edmund. "I think if I went back in there, it would be pointless, he packed away the papers I signed anyway," he said.

With a sigh, Edmund nodded. "All right, then let's get you home."

* * *

_The next morning…_

Peter would never admit it to his siblings or his mother, but he was uncertain how the change from soldier to school boy was going to affect him.

It had been bullets and mayhem on the battlefield. Could he make the transition to books and studying that school would require? He wasn't so sure he could. After all, he had been an adult ruling a kingdom in Narnia, then a young soldier fighting in a war zone. How could he be expected to simply sit in a classroom now?

Peter sighed and put the last of his clothing into a small case on his bed. He glanced at his bedside table and noted the time. If they didn't get to the station, the four Pevensie siblings were going to miss the train.

The door to his bedroom opened and Mrs. Pevensie leaned in with a small smile. She'd been smiling more in the last week than she had in the last year. "Peter, dear. Are you ready to go? We don't want to be late and the station is going to be jam-packed."

Hefting his suitcase in his right hand, Peter nodded and followed his mother from the room to find his siblings assembled by the front door. He and Edmund were dressed in the blue jackets and gray pants of their boarding school, and Lucy and Susan in the red blazers and gray skirts of their own school. Each held a small valise, similar to Peter's.

The tram trip to the station was subdued. None of the Pevensies really wanted to part with each other yet. Lucy had clung to her brother all the previous night, as if she would never see him again. He understood her fear and had sportingly allowed her to shadow his every move. Now, she sat abnormally close to him.

"Lu, it's only for a school term," Peter said, nudging her arm. "And I promise to write every week."

The young girl looked up and smiled at him. "You better," she said in response, jabbing his right leg with her pointer finger. "Or else…"

Mrs. Pevensie smiled at her children as the tram pulled up to the station.

It was nearly noon and there was a mad dash of lunch travelers scurrying about the station. Peter found himself hard-pressed to avoid being jostled and his siblings, perceptive as always, formed a protective ring around him, letting the commuters rushing about hit them instead of their brother.

Helen, loathe to let her kids go, hugged each tightly before disappearing into the crowd to get to work on time. That left Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy seated on a bench under the tiled "Strand" sign as the train approached their stop.

Suddenly, Lucy yelped and leapt to her feet. "_Hey_, who pinched me!?"

Peter jerked next and also stood, glaring at Edmund, who in turn said with arms thrown up, "I didn't touch you, Peter!"

For a moment, there was nothing, then, "HEY!" Edmund and Susan stood quickly, glancing back at the bench as if it was to blame for the pinches.

"That felt like magic," Lucy commented, looking to Susan with a broad grin.

"Hold hands," Susan commanded, her tone allowing no argument.

The four siblings, hands linked, watched as the train roared through the station. They were taken aback when they thought they saw trees through the speeding windows. And then there were no windows – in fact, there was no train. They were standing, not in the London underground, but in a heavily wooded forest, the ground covered in fallen, crisp leaves.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then, Lucy let out a whoop and spun around to face her brothers and sister. "We're back! We're back in Narnia! Oh, isn't this wonderful!!" She turned around and around, taking in the scene around them. "But…I'm not really sure where in Narnia…" she trailed off.

Peter turned around and spied a small hovel at the base of a nearby tree. "There." His siblings turned and looked as well. "Let's see if anyone's home."

Edmund stepped in front of Peter and took the lead. He could almost see Peter's frown of consternation, but he didn't acknowledge his brother. If someone hostile was in that hut, he wasn't about to let Peter greet the foe.

Stooping, Edmund knocked on the small wooden door, barely big enough for Peter to get through if he cared to try it. After a few minutes it was evident that no one was home. "Well, we're not getting answers here," he said, straightening. "Should we go in? Perhaps there is some sort of clue in there?"

Peter was hesitant to trespass, but this was Narnia and they _were_ the Kings and Queens, surely a quick jot inside wouldn't be so bad. And they _did_ need to find out where they were and what was going on in Narnia that might have called them back.

"Yes, let's," Peter said, gesturing for Ed to open the door. The latter did so and bent low to enter. Lucy, Susan and Peter followed, though the elder brother grunted uncomfortably at the strain of scrunching his taller frame through the doorway.

The inside of the hovel had a homely feel. All the siblings could stand straight, thankfully. To one side was a kitchen area, in the center a small table and chairs and off to the other side a small fireplace and squashy chairs. The main room smelt of some sort of soup.

"Whoever lives here didn't leave all that long ago," Ed said, voicing the others' thoughts. "And I'd say they left in a big hurry." He held up a bowl of still fresh, albeit cold, soup that had been left sitting on the dining table.

Lucy, who had moved further into the home, held up a soiled bandage gingerly between two fingers. "Looks like someone was hurt too," she said.

Peter took the bandage from her hands and frowned and added, "Someone who looks to have been a far sight bigger than whoever lives here, I'd say, judging by the size of the loop the bandage is still tied in."

Susan sighed. "Well, it's getting dark and it's pointless to try tracking in the middle of the night. Why don't we stay here until first light? If the owner of the place doesn't return before then, we can set off to try and find them. And there is food and shelter here."

Peter and Edmund shrugged and nodded their agreement. Lucy smiled and settled down onto the small couch by the fireplace. It barely fit even her frame, and looked more like an armchair than a couch when she sat.

Her brothers moved into the back room where she had found the bandage and spied a rather comfortable looking bed that they could squeeze themselves into, though it would be a tight fit, and Susan gathered cushions and made a comfortable spot in front of the fireplace.

Knowing it could be a long time before they got another good night's rest, the four Pevensies immediately went to sleep – Peter dropping off first, Lucy next and Susan and Edmund soon to follow.

_Pretty, pretty, pretty please review?! _


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them! Hence the next chapter already!! A bit of flashback, as promised…and quite a bit of Ed and Peter angst. Oh how I love to write that stuff!! Almost as much as I like to write battles, injuries and the likes! Enjoy!_

_A/N 2: This has been revised since it was originally posted. Some slight changes were made._

**Part Three:**

Edmund grunted.

He opened his eyes and then let out a pained puff of breath as a flailing arm impacted with his side again. "Pete?" he said, rolling sideways until he was on his back next to Peter, who was turned on his right side and whose right arm had been the one to smack into Edmund.

There was no response, but Edmund could make out in the wan light that there was a tight grimace on Peter's face and beads of sweat on his forehead. The arm that had hit him jerked back toward Peter, who flipped restlessly onto his back and flung his arm over his own face. Edmund couldn't make out words, but Peter was mumbling something.

Leaning closer, careful not to jostle Peter's torso, he gently prodded his brother in the arm. "Peter? Can you hear me? You're dreaming, Pete."

The latter continued to mutter, this time loud enough for Edmund to hear. "C…can't move, please... help me!" He shifted again, but this time must have put too much strain on his wound because he yelped and his eyes shot open.

Ed laid a restraining hand on his older brother's shoulder, afraid he would try to sit up too fast. The gesture drew Peter's gaze to his brother and their eyes met. "Ed? What…did I wake you?"

"Uh…"

Apparently that was answer enough because Peter frowned and shakily levered himself into a sitting position, his head hung low. "I'm sorry. I should have thought before agreeing to the sleeping arrangements."

It was Edmund's turn to frown now. "Do you often have nightmares, Peter?"

His brother looked up through his fringe and nodded slowly. "I've been having them since I regained consciousness the final time. So for a few months. I was almost hoping they would go away in Narnia."

Ed bit his lip. "Will you tell me what you were just dreaming about?"

Peter shook his head. "Ed, I can't. It's…it's not pleasant."

Edmund snorted and Peter looked at him like he'd grown another head. "What's so funny about that?" the blonde asked with an odd quirk of his lips.

His brother laughed lightly. "Oh Peter, c'mon, I gathered it wasn't something pleasant. Hence the word 'nightmare'. Honestly…"

A small smile crept across Peter's face at that. "I suppose you're right, Ed. But still, I don't know if I can talk about it right now." He sighed and, realizing the sun wasn't up enough yet, laid back down.

Ed followed him, propping himself on his left side with his hand holding up his head. "Please, Peter. You remember my nightmares after my time with the White Witch. It wasn't until I spoke to you and Susan that I was able to sleep through the night."

He waited with baited breath for Peter's answer.

"Did I say anything, during my nightmare?"

Edmund told him what he had heard and Peter sighed heavily again.

"I didn't tell you guys, but when I first woke two weeks after the fight, there was more wrong than just a painful wound," Peter said quietly. "I couldn't feel or move anything from the waist down."

_If he'd been gutted by a sword, he imagined it would feel very much like he felt that moment. With a low groan, Peter Pevensie wrenched his eyes open. He wasn't sure if he was feeling hot or cold, but he wasn't in too much pain. And he _was_ awake at least._

_The light was bright and he squinted, turning his head to the left to try and lessen the impact. He saw a blurry figure rapidly approaching. It could have been a woman, but he wasn't sure since he was seeing more of a light blob than a clear image of a person._

"_Peter?"_

_The voice was feminine, so he took it to be a woman. His mouth was so dry, all he could manage was an odd croak, so he instead focused and managed to nod his head lightly in the affirmative._

_A hand took hold of his wrist and he could feel fingers resting on the inside of his wrist. They stayed there as the person spoke again. "No speak. Wait. Get Dr. Mulner."_

_Peter was confused. Who spoke like that? And why couldn't he talk, not that he had the strength or ability at the moment to do it anyway. So he waited, hanging onto his consciousness with sheer determination._

_He wiggled his fingers and then his wrists and finally his arms. There was a sharp pain in his right shoulder. Why?_

_Then it hit him. He'd been running. Retreating. And then he'd been shot and he'd fallen. And then he'd been shot again. It was all blurry after that, but he remembered a man in fatigues. Who spoke broken English…_

"_Peter?"_

_This time the voice was male and Peter switched his gaze from the ceiling to the man at his side. Kneeling, the doctor leaned close. "Must not speak. Only to me. You in hospital. Think you German soldier."_

_Though he was groggy, Peter understood what the man was saying. He was in the hands of those he'd been fighting against. So why was he being treated so nicely? What was going on?_

_Peter struggled to speak, needing to know more. "How? Why'd…why help?"_

_He could hardly recognize his own voice, so weak and harsh. But he'd spoken, that was something. The man, who he could now see clearly, smiled lightly. "Look like son. Not able leave you. Rest. Heal."_

_The doctor stood and began to ask Peter to indicate when he felt himself being touched. The man started at Peter's chest, lightly poking various spots on his patient – careful to avoid the painful areas._

_Peter nodded when he felt pressure on his lower right side, but then the doctor seemed to stop. With a frown, Peter stopped nodding and waited for the doctor to start up again. But instead, the man knelt down by Peter's waist. "No feel?"_

_Confusion crossed Peter's face. "No…"_

_The man looked down at his hands and Peter struggled to follow his gaze. What he saw sent his heart into his throat. The doctor was poking a sharp object into his right upper thigh. And Peter didn't feel a thing._

"_Can move foot?"_

_The doctor moved to the bottom of Peter's bed and waited. Peter concentrated and willed his foot to move. The doctor's frown deepened and Peter knew it had not moved. He felt panic rising and his breathing sped up. _

"_C…can't move, please... help me!" His voice was low and frightened. The nurse lowered herself quickly and put a hand on his shoulder._

"_Shhh. Calm. Try later."_

_The doctor moved up to his charge's head as well. "Bullet close back. Swell. Wait for no swell."_

_Peter took that to mean there was swelling around his spine and relaxed minutely. It could go down. He could regain feeling; movement. Closing his eyes, he tried to take a steadying breath. He felt the doctor pat him on the shoulder and add, "No speak. No forget."_

_The young man nodded before drifting off, the stress of being awake for the first time and receiving such ghastly news draining all his energy. _

_The doctor and the nurse cast pitying looks on the British boy before moving off to complete their rounds._

Edmund swallowed hard. "I can't even imagine, Peter. That…that must have been...I can't even imagine." He paused, not sure what to say, too shocked by the story to think of a way to comfort his brother.

A hand on his arm drew his attention and Peter shook his head. "It was horrible, Ed. But obviously I regained feeling. But it still takes a bit out of me to walk a lot and I haven't even thought of running. I'm not sure how much use I'll be here."

Edmund fiercely glared at his brother. "You don't need to run or fight to be useful, Peter. You know that. Lucy hardly fights and she is invaluable. Don't worry your pretty, blonde head over it."

Peter swatted his brother, his mood considerably lighter after having conveyed the tale. It took a load off his shoulders now that his brother knew the part of the story he had been holding back. And he knew his brother would be aware of what was going on if he started to falter during their trek.

"Peter? Edmund?"

Lucy poked her head into the back room where Peter and Edmund were still lying side by side in the small bed. "Is it sun up already, Lu?" Edmund asked, moving to appear to be rubbing sleep from his eyes. Peter was mimicking his brother, pretending to have just woken up too.

Their youngest sister narrowed her eyes at her siblings, but didn't press. If they wanted to tell her what was going on, they would. She instead nodded and plastered a half-genuine smile on her face. "Yes, and Susan found some fruit we can eat for breakfast. We should go before the trail gets cold and all."

Peter smiled and nodded. "We'll be right there, Lu. Save me an apple, would you?"

His sister nodded and disappeared from view. Peter turned to Ed and the smile fell off his face. "So…can you help me up, Ed?" There was no hesitation from the younger boy and he pulled Peter to his feet and waited until he was steady before stepping back. "Thanks for listening. I do feel a bit better about it now."

That drew a smile from Edmund. "Glad to help, Peter. I owe you for helping me out after Beruna anyway." His smile drooped when he saw the darkened expression on Peter's face at his mention of Beruna. He knew his brother partly blamed himself for Edmund's injury, but it felt like there was more to it than just that now. "What?"

Peter shook his head and stepped past Edmund. "Nothing, let's go."

Edmund could tell he wasn't going to get an answer now, so he filed it away as something to pry out of Peter another time. Scooping up his school bag, which he had taken with him into Narnia, Ed hurried after his brother and joined his siblings outside the hut.

* * *

The trail wasn't difficult to follow. From what Edmund could tell, and he was the better tracker out of the siblings, at least one of the beings that had trampled through here was large. Probably the size of a human. And there had been more than one, running for sure.

The other tracks were harder to discern and were probably a small talking animal, or perhaps a dwarf. Or perhaps both, he wasn't too sure. But one thing was for certain, they were making no attempts to disguise their trail.

Peter watched with fond amusement as his brother stooped again to study the ground before them. Susan and Lucy drew to a halt beside him, waiting, and Peter stood leaning against the nearest tree. His brother was very good at tracking after spending many an afternoon training with the talking Dogs during their reign.

Watching him now, it was as if Edmund had never left Narnia – even though he was still clad in his school clothes, minus the blazer since it was warm outside. Peter wrinkled his nose as he felt a pinching pain in his torso. Shifting, he managed to relatively quickly dispel the feeling.

Edmund stood up now and gestured for the others to move on. And so it went for long minutes that stretched into a few hours of near silent plodding along through the forest. Lucy was looking around, eyebrows furrowed, and Peter couldn't take it anymore.

"What is it, Lu? Something seems to be bothering you."

The young girl turned to her brother, continuing to walk, but slowing to place herself beside him. "Don't you think it's odd, Peter? We haven't seen a single Narnian. Not a single Dryad. Nothing. Just woods. What do you suppose happened here? The forests used to be so … alive."

Peter didn't reply immediately. The same thoughts had actually been running through his mind as they had begun on their trek, but he hadn't voiced them. The woods were so still he was starting to wonder if they really _were_ in Narnia.

"I don't know, Lu. I've been wondering similar things myself and I haven't an answer. But something has happened, I can feel it." He looked up ahead at Edmund and Susan, who were quietly chatting with each other. "Whatever happened, it's why we're here. To help set it right."

Lucy nodded. "Yes, and I dearly hope we find someone soon because I'm really beginning to worry. And I can't stop wondering about Mr. Tumnus and the Beavers, oh and Aslan!" She glanced at her brother, frowning as she saw a slight tremor in his step. "Peter? Are you all right?"

She said it just loudly enough for Edmund to pick up and he halted almost immediately, a chagrined frown on his face. "Peter? Do you need to stop?" he asked, backtracking a bit to reach his brother and sister. Peter had stopped when Lucy had questioned him and it was now more evident that his legs were shaking.

Seeing this, Ed reached forward and drew Peter toward him, pulling his arm over his shoulders and forcing his brother to lean on him. He knew Peter was feeling awful when he didn't protest.

Edmund looked around and spied a nice spot a few meters from the river they were now walking adjacent to. He moved his brother off and then lowered him beside a tree. Peter started to rub his legs and nodded his thanks to Edmund.

"What's wrong with Peter?" Susan whispered to Ed, sensing he knew more than he was letting on about Peter's predicament. Her elder brother heard her question and looked up to Edmund.

A slight nod indicated it was all right to tell Susan and Lucy – since it was bound to happen for a while yet. Provided they didn't find Lucy's cordial, of course. Peter listening mutely as Edmund gave a brief description of his brother's temporary paralysis.

Lucy's eyes were wide when he completed his tale and she turned to Peter, who wouldn't meet his siblings' gazes. With a small huff of breath, she fell to her knees beside her oldest brother and hugged him. "Oh Peter, that's so horrible. I'm so glad you weren't like that forever. Do you think the cordial will help when we find it?"

Peter looked up, arms still wrapped around Lucy's slight form. "I hope so, Lu. I really do."

Susan patted him on the shoulder as she lowered herself to the ground beside him and Edmund sat down in front of his siblings, reaching into his bag to pull out some more fruit. The four sat quietly munching while Peter rested his weary body.

They resumed their walk, albeit at a slower pace, for another few hours, stopping occasionally when it was obvious Peter was beginning to ail. It was nearing nightfall when Peter drew his sisters and brother to a halt.

"We should really stop for the night, and this seems as good a place as any," he said, hands on his hips in a position that indicated he wouldn't take no for an answer. He knew his siblings were anxious to find out what was going on, but he also knew it wouldn't do for them to exhaust themselves.

Edmund hesitated, but saw the fiery look he was getting and was actually glad for it. It was the most authority Peter had shown in a while. Edmund had noticed his brother was deferring to him more often than not and it was disturbing him. He would make a point to mention it when they settled down.

Susan and Lucy went about gathering twigs and brush for a small fire and Peter set it ablaze with matches he'd found in Edmund's pack. Edmund had gone to the nearby river, keeping his family in sight, and had somehow managed to catch a few fish for supper.

The four Pevensies enjoyed a hearty meal before three of them settled down around the fire. Edmund appointed himself first watch and leaned back against the tree nearest the fire.

He could see Peter looking up at the stars, his arms comfortably set under his head and his ankles crossed. But Peter wasn't asleep yet, so Ed decided to broach a few topics that had been swimming around in his head.

"Peter?"

The blonde shifted slightly so that his gaze was on Edmund. "Yeah?"

With a deep breath, Edmund said, "Why are you being so … docile? You usually jump in and take charge of everything, but you aren't doing that and I want to know why."

For a moment, he didn't think Peter would answer. The young man had turned his gaze back to the stars and it was a few moments before he did, suddenly, reply. "I guess I'm still stuck in Army mode, Ed," he said quietly. "I might have been a corporal, but I wasn't really allowed to make many decisions. At first it was hard, you know. Going from High King of Narnia to lowly foot soldier. Then I got used to it and it was routine. Now, it's sort of hard to go back, I think."

He once again shifted his gaze to meet Edmund's. "I'm sorry if you feel burdened trying to make up for my lack of leadership, Edmund."

The latter waved him off. "I don't mind, Peter, I just wanted to know what the reason was. And I can see what you're saying. I imagine it's a bit like going from a King to a ten-year-old in London was. I was hard-pressed to listen to adults around me, still feeling like I was one."

Peter nodded at that. Many a time during his short war service he had found himself wanting to give an order or change the battle plans when he knew they would fail or at least that they were faulty.

Now that he was back in Narnia, it was so easy to slip into that same mindset and let Edmund and Susan take charge of everything – follow blindly and not take responsibility for any decisions.

But he knew it couldn't stay so. When they met up with the Narnians, he was going to be looked to for decisions and for plans, whatever they might revolve around. He was the High King and as such, it was his duty. Even if he was vastly different from the man who'd rode off to hunt the White Stag with his siblings.

"I just need a little time, Ed," Peter said. "I'll be back to normal soon. You know I like giving orders, being bossy." He smiled at Edmund's little laugh. "There was something else you wanted to know," Peter continued. "And, I don't want to keep things from you, so I'll tell you why you mentioning Beruna bothered me so much."

Hoisting himself up until he was leaning on his left elbow and side, Peter met Edmund's gaze before his eyes lowered briefly to his brother's side. Looking back up, he said, "Do you know the first thing I thought when this" he gestured to his midsection "happened? I wondered if it was what you felt like at Beruna."

Ed sucked in a breath before he could stop himself and grimaced at the memory of the searing pain he'd felt that morning. "Pete…"

"No, lemme finish," his brother said. "I know I had my fair share of injuries over the years in Narnia, but aside from Ettinsmoor, few were serious," He plowed on despite Edmund's incredulous snort. "Nothing that would have killed me…" he amended, before continuing. "So I never thought too hard about what you must have felt that day. Until this happened."

He looked down at the ground, taking a moment to compose himself before looking up and asking his brother the question he had kept to himself for many years. "What did it feel like, Ed? I need to know."

Forgetting the need to stand watch for the moment, Edmund actually crawled to his brother's side and wrapped his arms around the older boy's shoulders. "Peter, you don't need to think about this, it's over and long done with."

He felt Peter shake his head and heard the murmured "please."

With a sigh, Edmund kept his hold firm and spoke over Peter's shoulder, since the latter had his head buried in Edmund's own shoulder. "I guess I'd describe it as white hot, searing. Sort of like that time I burnt myself on the stove, but so much worse. And it took my breath away, the surprise of it happening and all." He paused. "Once I fell though, I was sort of numb. Don't get me wrong, it hurt like the dickens, but thinking back on it I'm surprised it wasn't worse really. I remember every breath was harder and harder and that was even scarier than all the blood."

He felt Peter's breathing hitch and stopped speaking. His brother's hands were knotted tightly in his shirt and he could tell Peter must be having flashbacks of his own injury. With a small whimpering cry, Peter suddenly let tears fall and Edmund started in surprise. Peter rarely cried.

"Hey, none of that," he whispered, drawing back and wiping a few tears away from Peter's eyes. "I told you, it's over and done with. And I'm fine. And you're … relatively fine and will eventually be _just_ fine."

Peter looked up at his younger brother through his tousled hair and shook his head lightly. "But Ed, I was supposed to protect you. I promised Mum I would and I let you get stabbed by that witch and feel something someone your age should never have felt."

Edmund sat back. "You blame yourself for that?" He suddenly did something that took Peter by surprise – smacked him in the back of the head. "You idiot!" Ed jumped to his feet and began to pace angrily. "You can't possibly think you were at fault for Beruna! Peter, I made the choice to disobey you and I would do it again, and again, and AGAIN. She was headed straight for you and I knew she meant to kill you."

He lowered his voice when Lucy stirred from across the fire pit.

"I know you wanted to protect me, Peter, but you can't do everything. I admit, I wish I never had to feel that…that pain, but it happened. And we got through it. How do you think I felt, opening that door to find two soldiers clutching a letter and just _knowing_ they were going to tell me you were dead?"

He had to stop and catch his breath, but kept pacing. "Peter, the whole time you were gone all I could think was how I was always at your side, had your back in battle here in Narnia, and you were _alone_ in Greece. I had nightmares about it, Peter. About you dying all alone, because I wasn't there to help you!"

Edmund was horrified to find tears falling down his face. "And that's exactly what happened! Don't you think, perhaps I always wanted to protect you? When we rode to battles, I felt it was my duty to protect you just as you felt it was yours to protect me. You were there when I was hurt, where was I when you were? At home. Warm and cozy!"

He slumped to his knees and then sat back, hugging his knees. Peter had silent tears falling now as he pulled himself to his brother and grabbed him into another hug. He was momentarily at a loss for words and the two brothers just held onto each other for a time.

Then he pushed Edmund back. "I never imagined you felt that way, Ed. I'm so sorry. I know you care just as much as I do and I'm sorry you felt like you'd failed me somehow. Actually, it was remembering you and Beruna that pushed me to fight so hard after I got hurt."

Edmund's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a small smile graced Peter's tear-streaked face. "Yeah, believe it or not, thinking about how you held on – so young and all – gave me strength to keep fighting. I kept thinking, _If Edmund survived Beruna, surely big, strong Peter can survive this_. So see, you did help me and you were there for me, Ed."

A small smile crept up on Edmund's face. "You really mean that?"

Peter nodded. "I do."

Edmund let out a shaky breath. "Let's neither of us do that sort of thing again, though, right?" He chuckled lightly, wiping away tears, as Peter nodded emphatically. "And you should lie back down. I have a watch to finish and then it's your turn…"

Peter silently agreed and settled back onto the ground near the fire; poking it a bit to get it going more before drifting off into an emotionally exhausted sleep. Edmund swiped at his eyes and sniffled before returning his attention to their surroundings.

_Please review!! Caspian appears in the next chapter, so stay tuned!! _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews to those who did review. I love to hear from you guys, and who knows, I might incorporate some of the things you beg for… we'll have to wait and see. This chappie was so hard to write because I knew it wasn't going to be all that much action or excitement. I hope you still enjoy it!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised since it was first posted and there are some changes._

Part Four

Lucy kept glancing toward her two brothers as they gathered the few belongings they had and scattered the remnants of their fire. There was something different about them – both seemed more at ease than they had the last week or so. She knew something pivotal must have happened last night, but didn't know what and wasn't so sure it was a good idea to ask. Turning her attention to Susan, she noticed her sister was also sending Peter and Edmund more looks than normal. She too suspected something different.

"Maybe we'll find someone today," Peter said as he stood beside Susan and Lucy, with Edmund once again scouting out the direction they would travel this morning. He cast a found gaze on Edmund and Susan couldn't hold in her curiosity.

"You seem different today, Peter…"

Her brother turned to her with a small smile on his face and she let out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. He wasn't angry at her, thank the lion. She was actually surprised when he answered.

"Ed and I discussed some things that had been bothering us last night and it was very … emotional," he said. "But it was also very liberating. I'm glad we talked because I feel so much better about it now."

His sisters both nodded and he patted them on the shoulders. "Come on, Ed's signaling, I think he found the trail." As they stepped forward as one unit, he added, "If anything is bothering you and you want answers, just ask, because I seem to be in the answering mood these last few days…"

Susan chuckled at that and nodded. "I'll hold you to that, Peter Pevensie. But later. I don't actually have any questions right now, only those that dwell on what happened here. But I'll come up with something."

Lucy tugged on her brother's sleeve. "I have a question. Are you going to start acting like High King Peter the Magnificent, or are you going to keep following us all like a lost puppy?"

"Lucy!" Susan gasped, but Lucy wasn't in the least perturbed by her abrupt question. Peter shocked them both when he doubled over laughing. Ahead, Edmund stopped and raised an eyebrow at his brother, who was now laughing and wincing at the same time.

"Lu, you're something else. Never change," Peter said. "Ed actually asked me the same question last night, though it was phrased a _bit_ differently. Lost puppy, indeed. I assure you, Lu, I am going to start acting as you remember me. I just needed time to go from nameless drone to King Peter. Bit of a stretch between the two, don't you agree?"

With a broad smile, Lucy nodded. "A bit."

After Peter composed himself, the four continued on in relative silence for a while. Then Lucy piped up again. "Guys, I had a dream this morning," she said quietly, drawing her siblings' attentions. "I dreamt I met Aslan in the woods."

Peter and Susan exchanged somewhat uncertain glances and Edmund prompted Lucy to continue, which she did. "I asked him why he wouldn't come to us and help us. He said that 'nothing ever happens the same way twice'. I think we should keep an eye out for him. He's got to be here, somewhere, and I know he'll help us."

Her eldest siblings frowned. "What could he mean by that?" Susan pondered. "I've been wondering why he hasn't come to us yet. I mean, here we are wandering Narnia with no idea what is going on or what we're supposed to do."

Peter shook his head. "I guess we can keep an eye out for him, but we can't really go searching for him. We wouldn't know where to look, anyway. Perhaps we need to do this on our own this time, and that's what he means by 'nothing ever happens the same way twice'."

Lucy sighed and nodded, but wasn't really convinced. "All right, I guess."

She remained silent after that, and Edmund gripped her shoulder. "I believe you saw him, Lu, I really do. And I believe he'll come when the time is right. I don't think he'll leave us to deal with all this ourselves, I just can't believe he would."

They stopped for lunch when the sun was high in the sky and Edmund and Susan spent time foraging for berries and other fruits to eat. Peter watched warily as Lucy wandered off in the opposite direction and he quickly stood to follow her. Something felt different here, and while he couldn't put a finger on what it was, he was not about to ignore it and let Lucy get hurt.

The youngest Pevensie leaned against a tree for a moment, gently running her hand along it, and whispered, "Please wake up." There was no response from the still tree and Lucy sighed sadly before walking further from the camp, as if drawn this way. Her brother trailed behind but didn't wish to disturb her unless necessary.

Lucy paused beside some bushes and her head suddenly jerked up. "What…" She was about to step around the bushes when Peter, who had seen what had made the noise, grabbed her and held a hand to her mouth. Shaking his head from side to side, he gestured for her to stay behind him and they began to back away from the bushes.

Without a weapon, Peter didn't want a confrontation with the large minotaur he'd spied on the other side of the hedge. Holding tightly to Lucy, he jerked to a stop when a young human man suddenly erupted from the brush to his right.

Lucy screamed as a blade, glistening in the sunlight, arched within inches of her brother's chest, where it came to rest menacingly. The young man wielding it narrowed his eyes at Peter, though they widened when he noticed Lucy, restrained by Peter, behind her brother.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the young man asked, his voice heavily accented.

Narnians began to emerge from the nearby forest and Peter let out a little shaky breath at that. Of course, he couldn't relax totally since there was still the sword pointed at him to contend with.

"Peter! Lucy!" Susan's voice cried out from behind her two siblings and she and Edmund appeared over a short rise.

The young man's sword wavered and then fell downward as his eyes widened. "Wait…it can't be…High King Peter?"

Peter met his eyes and nodded. "Yes. And who are you?"

A centaur moved forward now, eying the four Pevensies, his sword sheathed already. "This is Prince Caspian, Your Majesty," he said to Peter. "He is the one who blew the horn."

Susan gasped. "What horn?"

Caspian drew a familiar horn from his belt and held it out to Susan, who came forward now and took it, turning it over in her hands. "My horn. You say you used it? When?"

The young man sheathed his sword and said, "A few days ago. I didn't think it worked since nothing happened when I did so." He eyed the Kings and Queens of Old. "I guess I assumed too quickly it had failed to bring me aid. I see now it hasn't failed."

Peter, the adrenaline wearing off, relaxed now and shook off his earlier trepidation. "Perhaps you could tell us what is going on here," he said, unconsciously gripping his sore midsection. "We arrived in Narnia and have yet to come across a single Narnian until now."

The centaur, Glenstorm, and Caspian exchanged glances. "What is the last thing you know of Narnia, sire," the centaur asked Peter, gesturing for a small badger to approach as he did so.

Peter sighed and sat on the nearest rock, wincing a bit, but not dwelling on it. "My brother and sisters and I disappeared from Narnia and we know nothing of what happened after that."

"Oh dear," said the badger as he moved up to Peter's side and sat down as well. Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Caspian also sat, the latter two eying each other with a bit of interest before focusing on the badger. "There is much to tell you. Perhaps an introduction first. I am Trufflehunter, and it is my calling to remember our history."

That said; the badger launched into the tale, though an obviously abbreviated one.

"Not long after you left, the Telmarines invaded Narnia," he said. "Narnians were killed in great numbers, and Cair Paravel was held under siege until it eventually fell."

The four Pevensies exchanged chagrined looks at the thought of their beautiful home of many years being attacked and eventually defeated.

"What of those at the Cair?" Lucy said quietly. "Like Mr. Tumnus? What happened to them?"

Trufflehunter sighed. "Many died trying to protect the Cair," he said. "After you four left, the Faun Tumnus took up some leadership roles and it is said he was one of those who escaped the Cair moments before it fell."

Lucy nodded, remembering the first friend she made in Narnia and all the good times they had shared over the years. She hoped he hadn't been hurt.

"The siege lasted a month," the badger said. "When the Telmarines couldn't starve the Narnians out, they bombarded the Cair with weaponry. That was when most of the lives were lost, though some did die before that."

Peter and Edmund were sporting twin glares at that, wishing they had never left Narnia and had been there to protect their people and the Cair.

Trufflehunter shook his head sadly before moving on. "The remaining Narnians retreated to the woods, and at first held out hope that this invasion could be turned around and Narnia restored," he said, pausing.

"It wasn't to be," he continued, launching into a quick rundown of the smattering of resistance movements that had cropped up in the early days after the Cair's fall, but had quickly been put down.

"After a while, Narnians stopped coming out of the woods and Telmarines stopped going in," he said. "For centuries this went on and the Telmarines eventually assumed we had died out."

There were gasps from the Pevensies that brought Trufflehunter to a halt in his narration.

"Centuries?" Lucy breathed. "How long have we been gone?"

Caspian frowned. "About 1,300 years, Your Majesty."

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances at that, and Lucy and Susan's eyes widened. It was the oldest who regained his voice first. "Please, continue, good badger," he said.

Trufflehunter shook his head. "I expect Prince Caspian ought to take up the tale here," he said, waving toward the young man. "I have little knowledge of Telmarine history."

The Prince took up the narration, describing the highlights of the generations of Telmarine rulers, beginning with Caspian I and ending with his own uncle, Lord Protector Miraz.

Swallowing back the bile that always rose when he thought of his plight, Caspian said, "I suppose the only reason I've lived as long as I have is because my uncle did not have an heir, and as such could not claim the throne. But once his wife bore him a son, he immediately sent Palace guards to kill me."

Susan and Lucy gasped and Peter and Ed exchanged hard looks. For the tight-knit Pevensie siblings, it was difficult to fathom how a family member could do such a thing to their own kin.

Caspian kept on speaking. "My professor woke me and helped me escape the castle. I rode away and was chased through the woods." He looked over to Trufflehunter and a nearby dwarf with a small smile. "I had never seen Narnians, so when I saw the badger and his dwarf companions, and the Telmarine soldiers were nearly upon me, I used your horn as my teacher had told me to do – when I felt my life in peril and had no other recourse."

Trufflehunter nodded and continued. "Nikabrik knocked the Prince out, not knowing at the time that he was not out to harm us..."

Caspian rubbed his head with a small grin and added, "Packs quite a punch, that one."

The badger went on. "Trumpkin, another dwarf, took off after the Telmarine soldiers that had chased Prince Caspian. He has not returned and we don't know what happened to him," he said quietly.

Seeing the badger was lost in thoughts, presumably of his friend, Caspian went on. "After I woke, I told them who I was and what happened. And they told me about the horn and what it probably meant. We had to leave Trufflehunter's home in a rush when more soldiers entered the area to search me out. We were saved by more Narnians," he pointed to a nearby posse of mice, "Reepicheep and his loyal companions. Since then more and more Narnians have been gathering and we have been amassing numbers to try and take back what was stolen from them."

Peter was the first Pevensie to speak after the story. "We will aid you in any way we can, Caspian," he said. "What did you and your commanders have in mind?"

Caspian frowned. "Well, we were on our way to Aslan's How. We have been forging weapons there to equip our army. We know the Telmarines outnumber us by many and have yet to decide whether to attack them or wait for them to come to us." He looked closely at Peter, noticing again a wince of pain cross the blonde's face, though he didn't comment on it. "We would be most appreciative to have your help, King Peter and King Edmund. Your battle planning is the stuff of legend."

The two Pevensies in question smiled at that, remembering a time when they would sit around in the war room with Oreius and map out campaigns to keep Narnia at peace and her people safe from invaders.

Edmund, who hadn't been oblivious to Peter's pained expressions, nodded in agreement. "I'm sure together we will come up with something," he said, then turned to Peter. "But before we do anything, does anyone know the whereabouts of our belongings? Where were they stored after we disappeared? Specifically, we need Lucy's cordial."

Peter's head snapped up at that. He turned to look at Caspian, hoping he would have an answer. The other young man frowned and shook his head negatively. "I have never heard of such a place. My professor gave me the horn, and he told me it took him years to track it down. But perhaps the Narnians would have a better idea," he said.

Trufflehunter was stroking his chin in a decidedly human manner before exclaiming, "I have an idea!"

The four Pevensies focused on him. "You do? Oh please what do you think?" Lucy said excitedly, eying her brother in particular.

Looking between the Pevensies, the badger said, "Legend says that there was a treasure chamber built below Cair Paravel after you disappeared. According to the story, the Kings and Queens of Old would be able to find it if they ever returned. As far as I know, it is still there."

"We must go, then!" Susan exclaimed. "Peter, if we find Lu's cordial…" she trailed off, uncertain if her brother wished to let everyone know of his current condition. She saw him frown, and then turn to Caspian.

Lightly rubbing his torso, Peter briefly explained that he had taken injury in a war where they came from, which he was still recovering from and occasionally pained him. "I'm still not at top form," he said quietly, fingering his shirt. "I'll fear I will be of little use in a real battle without Lucy's cordial, or a great deal more time to recuperate."

The High King turned to Edmund. "I think Caspian and I should go to Cair Paravel alone," he said with conviction. When Edmund started to speak, he held up a hand that commanded silence. "Let me finish, please. Someone needs to stay here and get these people to the How and then protect it and prepare for the upcoming battle. I would take Susan, but if you are busy with the planning, you won't have time to keep an eye on Lucy, so I'd rather Su stayed here. She'd also be invaluable in planning for the archers."

His siblings were loath to let Peter out of their sight, but they had to agree his reasons were sound. Caspian, seeing the hesitation, spoke solemnly. "I promise I will let no harm befall your brother that I am able to prevent," he said, speaking mostly to Edmund. "We would be able to travel quicker and would be less likely to attract attention if we went alone."

"Why can't Peter stay here and plan and Edmund go with Caspian?" Lucy asked quietly. Her oldest brother smiled lightly.

"Because, Lu, if the Telmarines attack before we get back, there has to be someone here who can lead the army. I wouldn't be able to do that as effectively as Edmund could at the moment. And before you voice your next question, I'll answer it. I have full confidence in Caspian and believe we will be fine. It will be less dangerous for me to go than to stay."

His sister smiled and hugged him. "You always could read my mind, Peter," she muttered. "Promise to be safe and cautious, not reckless like I know you can be when you really want to get somewhere."

"I promise," he said with mock solemnity.

"Then that is settled," Caspian said, rising. "I shall find another horse for you, King Peter. If we leave today, we could reach Cair Paravel in two days time. And yes, I am factoring in rests for your injury."

As Caspian strode away, Edmund couldn't help but smile. "I think I like this Caspian fellow. He sounds like he'll be just as overprotective of Peter as I am!" He laughed when Peter smacked him soundly on the arm.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Peter mumbled. With a sigh, he stood and brushed his pants off, then turned to the nearest Narnian. "I don't suppose you've got something around here I could use to defend myself, should the need arise?"

With a nod, the centaur he'd addressed trotted off toward some fauns and commandeered one of their short swords. While Peter was used to a longer blade, like Rhindon, he could just as skillfully employ the shorter blades his brother was fond of wielding.

Hefting the borrowed sword, Peter swung it slowly, then with increasing speed until he felt a twinge in his wound. "Well, not quite as good as I'd hoped," he said with a grumble. "But it'll have to do. I sure hope we find something at Cair Paravel." It was left unsaid what that something was – they all knew anyway.

Just then, Caspian rode up on a beautiful black stallion, leading a white mare behind him. Peter smiled as he remembered his first mount during the battle of Beruna, a white unicorn whom he had led the charge upon. The unicorn had been wounded in that fight, and had been retired from military service afterward. But Peter had often ridden the beautiful being for leisurely strolls in the gardens of Cair Paravel, and while it couldn't speak, he knew they had both enjoyed their time together.

Peter gently rubbed the white horse's nose. "What is her name?" he asked Caspian.

The prince released his hold on the reins and said, "Realeza. It means 'royalty' in the language of the Telmarines. She was a Telmarine horse that broke free of the stables and has been living with the Narnians ever since."

The High King could see fierce intelligence and loyalty in the horse he was gently stroking and smiled. "Well, seems like a fitting name to me," he said, moving to the horse's side and frowning at the saddle. He began to uncinch the straps holding it on and Caspian looked at him askance.

"What are you doing, King Peter?"

Edmund chose to answer, "Oh Peter has never really liked riding with a saddle. He prefers bare back. But, Pete, do you think it best with your injury? I mean, you'll be jostled more, won't you?"

His brother shook his head. "Not if I do it properly." He ventured nothing else as he relieved the horse of the saddle and blankets. Using a nearby rock, he mounted the horse with relative ease, for the moment reminding Edmund of Beruna.

"If you say so," Caspian muttered, obviously thinking the High King must be a bit barmy to ride without a saddle. "I've gathered some food and water; we should be able to make the journey with what we have in my saddle bags."

Peter nodded and then turned to look at his family, who were huddled closely together next to Realeza's right flank. "Ed, look after everyone, will you? And Su, don't let him get into trouble." He looked at his youngest sister. "And Lu, I know I can trust you to keep them both in line," he said with a grin.

Lucy nodded, slinging her arms around both her siblings' waists. "Oh, yes, Peter. I'll make sure they don't do anything rash." She turned her gaze to Caspian and he almost shied away at the intensity of her eyes. "You, sir, take good care of my brother or you'll have to answer to me."

Edmund laughed. "Yes, Caspian, best beware. Queen Lucy the Valiant can be quite fierce when it comes to protecting her family. Trust me on that one, I ought to know!"

With a gulp of trepidation at leaving his family, Peter gathered the reins and nudged Realeza forward. Caspian moved up beside him and the two urged their mounts into a trot, then a full-out gallop that quickly took them out of sight.

Edmund turned to Lucy and Susan. "I'm sure he'll be all right," he said, though his tone was slightly uncertain. "Come on, let's get these people moving. We need to get to this Aslan's How before nightfall. I don't want to risk attack in the open like this, especially without Peter and Caspian."

Nodding, Susan scooped up a borrowed bow and quiver of arrows. "Right then, on to the How."

The troop of Narnians, with three in particular casting longing glances in an easterly direction, headed off west toward what Glenstorm promised was a strong fortified position.

Lucy lingered for a moment as they marched off, turning toward the east and whispering, "Aslan, please keep our brother safe from harm. And Caspian as well. We can't lose either of them."

For a moment, she swore she saw a glint of gold and the far-off roar of a lion. But the feeling quickly wore off and Lucy turned and scrambled to catch up to her brother and sister.

_A/N: Well, there's another chapter. I admit, I wasn't thrilled with it. It was more to move the plot along, and not really too exciting. SORRY. I promise it will be more exciting later, but come on now, not every chapter can be a battle! I'm having some home trouble, and I think it's wreaking havoc on my writing, so please stick with me! And pretty please review! Even if you just say "nice"..._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Just so you know, I'm straying from canon here and putting the kids ages' at 15, 14, 10 and 8 in LWW. I've heard Peter was 13 some places, but I thought that too young for what he did. So he was 15 then and is now 16 (and was during his war service… which is also unrealistic, but hey…) Also, a few reviewers thought Peter revealing his wound was premature. I agreed, so I tried to remedy it a bit here, since I didn't specifically state what Peter told them…Enjoy!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised and a new scene has been added._

**Part 5:**

Peter quickly realized he might have overestimated how much jostling he could take. The constant jarring of the galloping horse beneath him had already begun to take its toll and he was wincing every few minutes or after a particularly forceful jolt.

Beside him, Caspian was casting far too many concerned glances his way and Peter knew that while had told the Prince of his injury, Caspian was undoubtedly realizing that the young High King had downplayed it.

Still, he seemed to respect that Peter would call a halt if need be. That brought a small smile to Peter's face, because he knew if it had been Edmund on that other horse – they would have already stopped and he'd be fussed over.

They continued on in silence, since conversation on galloping horses, dodging trees and jumping small obstacles, was an impossible task. It was actually Caspian that called the first halt after a few hours.

"We need to rest the horses," he said, dismounting and patting his mount's neck fondly. Both horses had already worked up a lather and Peter slid from his own, nearly losing his balance when he hit the ground and a sharp pain ripped through him. He leaned forward a bit, trying to alleviate the pain from suddenly standing -- and standing straight, at that.

When he saw Caspian staring at him, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to straighten. He had told the Prince of his injury, but he'd be damned if he was going to let on just how badly it was still paining him. It wouldn't do to let this young man think that the Kings and Queens of Old were weak or incompetent.

"Are you well?" Caspian asked, taking a step toward Peter as he spoke. The High King raised a warning hand, which stopped the Prince in his tracks.

Shaking his hair out of his face, realizing that he'd have to get it cut soon, Peter said quickly, "I'm fine. A bit sore. It's been a while since I've had a chance to ride. Perhaps galloping so long was a bit premature on my part."

Momentarily satisfied, Caspian gestured to the nearby stream and suggested watering the horses and eating a bit for lunch. Peter agreed wholeheartedly, never one to pass up a meal, however meager, and the two young men sat to eat.

Peter make short work of his bread and fruit and leaned back against a large tree root protruding a few feet up from the ground. It was so quiet; at times he still felt hard-pressed to believe this was Narnia. He sighed at the memories that came unbidden to his mind.

Caspian watched silently as the High King lost himself in his thoughts, but he was curious, and since Narnia during the High King's reign was one of his favorite subjects, he decided to try and engage the King into telling some tales of old.

"King Peter," he said, drawing the blonde's attention. "If you would not mind, I know very little of the Narnia of your time. Could you tell me some stories from when you and your royal sisters and brother were ruling?"

Peter sat up a bit straighter at that. "I suppose I could, we can't push the horses too soon and have some time to kill." He hesitated. "What do you want to hear? Everyday life or some of our campaigns?"

Caspian thought for a moment before answering, "Everyday life."

For a moment, Peter was taken aback, not having expected that answer. But he regained control of himself and leaned back again, returning his gaze to the treetops above them.

"You've probably heard that my brother and sisters and I were relatively young when we took the thrones at Cair Paravel," he said. "As such, we weren't _quite_ ready for all things that the rule of a nation required. Like some of the tedious complaints in everyday court…"

"_Edmund, you are __**not**__ going to abandon me to listen to this, this…argh…craziness on my own!?" Peter chased his brother down the corridor just outside the throne room, his steps echoing down the length of the hall. Being quite a bit taller still, he was able to catch Edmund by the back of his cloak and drag him to a halt._

"_But Peter, you're the High King. They don't need me to help with this situation, I'm sure you can figure it out on your own." Edmund's face was contorted as he tried to hold in the laugh that was threatening to erupt any second now at the complaint the court had been called upon to resolve. "I mean, come on Pete, how hard can it be to solve the problem?_

"_Mr. Nartse the Squirrel said that tree spirit Elena has been attacking him most fiercely for picking nuts from her tree. All you have to do is convince Elena that Nartse needs to eat and Nartse that he'll need to make some sort of payment to her for helping him. See, simple."_

_Peter put his hands on his hips. "Simple? You call that simple? I have to mediate between a tree and a squirrel, Edmund. Come on, you're the Just one, you need to help me!"_

_His brother shook his head. "Nope. I'm supposed to meet Oreius in the training field this afternoon. And, oh look at that, its 10 minutes after noon, if I'm reading that sun right…so… sorry."_

_Peter growled as his brother turned and literally ran off._

"_Brat," he muttered to himself, storming back down the hallway and pausing in front of the door to the throne room. He took a moment to compose himself, since it wouldn't do for his subjects to think he was angry or annoyed with them. Once he felt he had control of his expression, he entered the room and moved to where Elena the tree spirit, who had taken something near to the form of a humanoid for this occasion, and Nartse the squirrel were waiting below the dais that held his and his siblings' thrones. Elena ruffled and her leaves rearranged themselves as Peter sat calmly in his throne._

"_All right," he said. "I've heard both of your arguments and I have a few suggestions for you. Nartse, you need the nuts off Elena's tree to survive as there are no other nut-bearing trees in your area, correct?"_

_The squirrel nodded and glared, if a squirrel can glare, at Elena, who ruffled again in response. Peter sighed and continued, "And Elena, you said it pains your tree, and by association you, when Nartse picks your nuts. Correct?"_

_Elena's leaves shifted and she bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."_

_Peter laid his hands on the sides of his throne and attempted a regal look. He didn't know if he succeeded, but he pressed on. "I suggest that, Elena, you allow Nartse to take what he needs to survive, and no more, but with the understanding that he make amends to you for the discomfort his foraging causes."_

_Elena ruffled angrily. "Why should I suffer for his needs? Why can't I live in peace and comfort?" She quickly added, "My liege."_

_Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache start. "Because, dear tree spirit, if Nartse does not eat, he too will be in discomfort. Now, I could ask him to move and find another tree, but I'll be here again later with yet another tree spirit." He looked up at Elena. "Is there nothing that bothers you on a regular basis, besides Nartse?"_

_Elena paused. "Bugs."_

_Peter looked up at that. "Bugs, you say?"_

_He turned to Nartse. "And you, Sir Squirrel, could you perhaps catch bugs?"_

_He saw Elena ruffle in interest out of the corner of his eye. Nartse's eyes darted between his King and the tree spirit next to him and nodded. "I can, I'm quick, I am."_

_Peter smiled finally and gestured to Nartse. "Then it is my decree that you, as payment for taking nuts and for causing discomfort to Elena and her tree, groom her tree as best you can and rid her of those bugs that bother her." He looked to Elena. "In addition, Nartse will be allowed to gather any nuts that fall naturally from your tree, Elena. That way, you both get what you need. Any arguments against this decision?"_

_Nartse shook his head quickly and then looked to the tree spirit. Elena was slower to accept, but her leaves ruffled and she "nodded". "I am agreeable to this, Your Majesty. It will be most welcome to be rid of some of those leaf-eating bugs."_

_As the two left the throne room, Peter slumped down in his throne and shook his head. "I never thought I'd have to mediate between a tree and a squirrel. Never."_

_His head snapped up as Susan and Lucy tumbled into the throne room. "Ed told us you were settling a dispute that would have caused a mini-war if you didn't solve it," Lucy chirped. "Oh what was it, Peter? Tell me!"_

_She leapt into his lap and he caught her so she didn't tumble back off. "He told you that, did he?" Peter said with a small smile. "Well, it might have led to a war where nuts and leaves and perhaps pebbles were the weapons of choice, but I don't think that's what you were thinking, Lu."_

_The young girl frowned. "What do you mean, Peter? Nuts, leaves, and pebbles? What kind of weapons are those?"_

_Peter laughed. "The kind a tree spirit and a squirrel might fight with?"_

"_**No**__!" Lucy cried. "You mean…you had to…why?"_

_Peter regaled his sisters with the tale of the squirrel and the tree spirit who fought over nuts as the three of them headed down to the field where Edmund and Oreius were training._

_Ed looked up at his brother's approach. "So, Peter, how did it go? Will we need to protect a poor little squirrel from being stomped by a tree spirit?"_

_Peter shook his head and very solemnly, holding a straight face with difficulty, stated, "No, I've taken care of it, Ed. We reached an agreement that was mutually beneficial and lacking in anything remotely violent."_

_His brother raised his eyebrows at that. "Okay, Pete. Glad to hear…wasn't too hard was it?"_

_The older Pevensie thought for a moment, but then stuck his tongue out at his brother. "No it wasn't. But since you made __**me**__ do that one alone, __**you**__ get to tackle the next one. This afternoon we're hearing a dispute between a water spirit and a leopard. See, the leopard bathes in the water spirit's stream and the water spirit isn't too happy about all the dirt the leopard leaves behind."_

_Edmund's eyes widened and he gulped. "Oh, well, yes, I'm sure I'll think of something."_

"_Oh yes, all __**alone**__ too," Peter replied with a laugh._

"It wasn't unusual to settle disputes like that. As the years passed, we began to realize that they were far more serious than we had thought as children. But still, sometimes you just didn't understand what the big deal was, you just had to resolve the problem."

Caspian was chuckling. "I cannot imagine a tree spirit as you described," he said. "You say she was made up of leaves? What held them together?" He shook his head. "I cannot picture this being. And it is so fantastical to imagine that simply picking nuts could be painful to the tree."

Peter looked down from the treetops and met Caspian's gaze. "If only you could see the Narnia we knew, Caspian. I remember the first time I met a tree spirit. She brought word from Lucy and Susan that Aslan had been killed on the Stone Table."

Mention of that legendary event immediately drew Caspian's attention, and Peter could tell that the Prince wanted to hear that story. "I was asleep in the tent and felt something, a breeze really, caress my cheek. When I opened my eyes, and mind you I was very groggy, I saw a mass of pink leaves swirling around beside my pallet.

"My first response – draw my sword, which I did. Thinking back on it now, I really don't see how much use that sword would have been against a tree spirit. It wasn't like I could use it against her, you know. But it was startling, that's for sure. Perhaps when this is over, the tree spirits will return to Narnia."

Caspian sighed. "I hope so, King Peter."

Peter looked over at the horses grazing nearby. "They look rested enough. I think we should press on. Something feels off about the forest here. Sort of like the feeling I got when we happened upon you and the Narnians. I feel as if we are not alone."

Caspian's hand fell to his sword at Peter's words. "Then yes, let us go," he said hastily, watching with narrowed eyes as the High King struggled to his feet. Peter was good at hiding it, but Caspian was no stranger to injury and he knew there was more to Peter's wound than he had let on.

The Prince remembered what Peter had said to explain his injury, but was rapidly realizing Peter hadn't told him everything. He said he'd been shot with something, not an arrow, but it penetrated like one might expect an arrow to do. The weapon had gotten stuck inside him and healers had needed to find it and take it out.

It was all rather foreign to Caspian, but Peter had further explained that now he was left with something similar to a sword slash to the torso and abdomen, which he did understand. But the wound was months old. So why was the High King still ailing so badly?

Leaping into his saddle, Caspian waited as Peter, again using a rock formation, climbed atop Realeza. He would ask him later to explain more. While he expected Peter had wanted to downplay the wound to fuel hope from his return, Caspian needed to know if he could count on the King to watch his back effectively in a fight.

They nudged the two horses into a canter and set off toward Cair Paravel once more. The feeling of foreboding only increased as they continued on, much to their chagrin.

Peter was about to signal to Caspian to stop again, since he was starting to really struggle with his pain, when an arrow whizzed by his head and he tugged hard on Realeza's reins in response. The horse reared up and Peter was hard-pressed to remain mounted.

"King Peter," Caspian called out, cantering around to return to Peter's side just as more arrows rained toward the two young men. Realizing the arrows were coming from more than one direction – perhaps even all four directions – Peter surmised they would be safer on the ground.

Pushing aside the pain of his wound, he jumped from the horse and drew the sword he had borrowed. Caspian followed his lead and the two urged the horses to leave. They would hopefully not be targets.

Taking cover behind the nearest trees, which soon looked like archery targets, Peter and Caspian exchanged glances. They could hear more than one person crashing through the woods toward them.

As the sounds drew near, Peter and Caspian nodded to each other and as one spun from behind the trees, swords flashing. They were obviously outnumbered, but the Telmarine soldiers attacking them had not expected such fierce resistance and reeled back at the intensity of Peter and Caspian's attacks.

Arrows continued to sporadically enter the small clearing, but it was evident that the archers feared hitting their own men while they were engaged in dueling, so they were only taking occasional shots.

While he was busy fighting off his own men, Peter noticed that Caspian was an experienced fighter. Of that he was immensely glad, as the fight was wearing on him already. He cursed that he had hidden the full extent of his wound from Caspian now and could only hope the young prince would see if he needed more help.

Caspian had indeed noticed the struggle, but was inwardly thinking that if this was Peter being "of little use," than he didn't want to be a Telmarine facing Peter at his best.

The Telmarines soon found their numbers nearly decimated and the remaining soldiers exchanged glances before retreating into the woods. This gave the archers the opportunity to begin firing again.

Not knowing who Peter was, the soldiers' obvious target was Caspian. With a look toward Peter, the two silently agreed and ran in the direction their horses had trotted.

They saw their mounts in the distance, glad for loyal horses. As they drew near, they heard the archers crashing through the woods once again in pursuit of them.

Peter thought he'd be able to mount Realeza, but quickly found nothing to give him a leg up. He yelped when Caspian appeared at his side and held out his hands. "Don't argue, my liege, get up!"

The High King wasted no time and used the prince's clasped hands like a stirrup, dragging himself onto the horse. He stowed the sword in its sheath as Caspian sprinted to his horse.

Before the dark-haired man could mount, he was knocked to the ground by a well-placed arrow to the shoulder. The shock of suddenly smashing into the ground knocked the wind out of Caspian for a moment, but the nearing archers jolted him back and he scrambled to his feet.

One-handedly grabbing the reins, he vaulted onto the now moving horse and, ignoring the horrible pain from the arrow wound, he galloped alongside Peter. Arrows still rained from behind them, but because they had taken out so many of their attackers, they were few and far between and gradually lessened to none.

They rode hard, knowing another fight would surely turn against them. The horses were in a lather and starting to ail, but they couldn't afford to stop and both young men urged the horses to hold on just a little longer.

Finally, Peter felt they had gone far enough and he could see Caspian was starting to sway dangerously from the loss of blood. The High King slowed Realeza and Caspian slowed in response. Seeing a particularly dangerous sway, Peter grabbed the reins from Caspian and drew both horses to a halt.

He cringed at the arrow Caspian was grasping tightly and realized he had to get it treated quickly. "Come on, I'll help you down over here," he panted, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart.

The High King nudged the horses over to a fallen tree and used it to dismount. He helped Caspian slide down the few feet to the tree as well, catching him when he wobbled unsteadily.

The exhausted young men sat beside the horses and Peter dug into the saddlebags on Caspian's mount, searching for bandages. He found a large clump and returned to the prince's side.

Caspian's face was tight, but he was silent as Peter helped him strip off his leather tunic and his shirt, and felt around the arrow shaft, gauging how deeply it had gone. It was further in than he had hoped to find and he frowned.

"I'm going to have to push it through," he said quietly. "I'll just do more damage if I drag the arrowhead back through. Here…" he cut a piece of the leather belt that held the sword to his waist and handed it to Caspian. "So you don't bite your tongue."

Caspian hesitantly reached out and grasped it, grimacing. But he did as he was instructed and leaned forward when Peter asked him to. The High King positioned himself in front of Caspian and slung his left arm around the young prince's right shoulder and across his back to where the arrow would come out. With his right hand, Peter grasped the bit of arrow shaft sticking out. It only needed to be pushed an inch or so, so he had little fear it would break off inside.

Taking a deep breath, Peter said, "Ready?" Caspian nodded, his head lowered near Peter's right shoulder. Peter didn't answer, but counted to four in his head and pushed hard.

Caspian's pained cry was cut off by the leather, but the jerk was barely restrained and Peter, who knew too well the pain his new friend must be in, hurriedly snapped the arrow head off behind Caspian and then swiftly pulled the shaft out the front of the prince. He quickly dropped both pieces and applied firm pressure to both the front and back wounds, drawing a grunt from the young man he was effectively hugging to do so.

"Easy," he said. "I think you'll be all right. We just have to stop the bleeding. And now we have even more reason to find Lucy's cordial." He kept hold of the wounds until he was satisfied the bleeding had slowed. Then he proceeded to firmly wrap strips of bandage until the wound was bound tightly. Caspian was leaning somewhat heavily on Peter now, and the High King was loath to force him to move, but they couldn't linger too long. Knowing there were enemies in the woods behind them, it would be unwise to remain anywhere too long.

"Can you ride?" Peter asked the Prince.

Caspian looked up at Peter with glassy eyes and nodded slowly. "I think so. But not fast."

He moved to stand up, but found he had no energy with which to do so. Peter levered him to his feet, steadfastly ignoring the growing pain of his own old wound. He found himself growing angry that he wasn't healing faster. It had been so long since it happened and yet it lingered. His legs were trembling again from the riding, running and fighting. This was the first time in a long time he had done anything strenuous. Now he was fully able to understand just how weak he still was.

Caspian was in too much pain himself to notice that Peter was having difficulty guiding him straight. The prince eyed the horse, suddenly realizing how high the back of his mount really was and let out a shaky breath.

Peter steadied him as he gingerly climbed into the saddle. Then the High King wearily lifted himself onto Realeza's back and they started off again, each wincing as the horses' gaits jostled them around.

"What a fine pair we make," Peter quipped tiredly. "By the time we get to Cair Paravel, we'll be crawling, I think."

Caspian grinned lightly. "I could not agree more, King Peter."

They rode in silence, ever wary of another attack, occasionally resting and giving the horses time to recover. It was still at least a day until Cair Paravel. And it was sure to be a long day, no matter what they did or didn't run into.

* * *

The column of Narnians hadn't gotten very far when a Talking Dog approached Edmund and Nikabrik where they were talking in low tones with Glenstorm near the head of the rag-tag group. Glancing from one to the other, the Dog finally addressed the younger boy.

"King Edmund?" he said, waiting for the young King to acknowledge him. When Edmund nodded for him to go on, falling easily into his former role, the Dog continued. "My pack and I have heard jeering from where the rivers meet, my liege," he said. "The accents are Telmarine and they sound like they are taunting a Narnian."

Glenstorm looked to Edmund, waiting for the King's response.

Susan and Lucy had drawn up beside their brother and the centaur, Trufflehunter a little behind them listening intently. With a quick glance to Susan, Edmund turned to the Talking Dog.

"Can you lead us to the area? If there is a Narnian in trouble, we will not leave him or her to torment," he said. Gesturing to his sisters, Nikabrik and Glenstorm to follow, he turned to the nearest Faun. "We will halt here for a rest. I will be taking these few with me to help a friend in need."

The Faun bowed and moved off to spread the word.

Edmund commandeered a set of swords from two resting Fauns and the small group tailed the Talking Dog through the woods in the direction of the river. As they advanced, voices began to carry over the wind.

"If it _disturbs_ you so much, stop _looking_ at it," came an accented male voice.

A short pause, and then, "Well switch places with me then and I wouldn't _have_ to look at the beastly thing!"

There were laughs from slightly closer and scowling, Edmund held up a hand to stop the group from advancing. He inched closer to Susan and whispered, "I'm going to get a closer look, see what we're up against."

She nodded, throwing in a "be careful" for good measure.

Casting a quick glance to Nikabrik and Glenstorm, Edmund spun around and crept through the brush, disappearing from view. The voices continued to grow in volume and soon he could connect them to the men that owned them.

On shore, stood three Telmarine soldiers, jeering at something in the river. Following their gazes, Edmund saw two more Telmarines and what looked to be a light-haired dwarf – though the dirt made it hard to tell if his hair was actually light or if Edmund was imagining things.

He was trussed up tightly and gagged, but was glaring quite effectively at the two men in the small skiff with him. They had rowed out nearly to the center of where the Beruna and Rush rivers met, a deep enough spot for a successful drowning. Their obvious intention.

Creeping back again, Edmund rejoined the others.

"I believe we may have located the missing Trumpkin," he whispered. "Susan, there are two in the boat with him, and there are three on the shore. Nikabrik, you and Glenstorm and I can handle the three on shore and Susan's arrows can take the two in the boat. Lu, you stay here."

Lucy fidgeted beside him, a little put out by her brother passing over her, but she nodded. As the others moved off silently through the brush, she watched their progress until she couldn't stand it any longer. Finally, she moved after them, pausing at the edge of the forest, but remaining concealed.

She watched as Susan stepped through the bushes, an arrow notched to her borrowed bow. Seeing the men had lifted Trumpkin and had him poised over the side, Susan shouted out, "Drop him!" as Edmund, Nikabrik, and Glenstorm lunged past her and laid into the three shocked Telmarines on the shore.

Together they made short work of the men and turned just in time to see the men in the boat release their hold on Trumpkin and the dwarf's eyes widen as he plunged beneath the surface of the river. Lucy burst out of the trees and ran to her sister's side.

Susan's arrows flew past Edmund and impacted with the two Telmarines in the boat as the young King tossed aside his swords and dove without hesitation into the swirling waters of the river, powerful strokes taking him toward where the dwarf had last been seen.

Gulping in a deep breath, he disappeared under the surface and for long seconds did not reappear. Susan and Lucy were standing anxiously at the edge of the river, while Nikabrik and Glenstorm were eying their surroundings in case more Telmarines showed up.

There was a collective sigh of relief when Edmund broke the surface with a very still dwarf in his grasp. Struggling, the young King managed to get himself and Trumpkin to shore and was silently thankful when Glenstorm took hold of the dwarf and pulled him further ashore as soon as they were within his grasp.

Lucy surged forward, dropping to her knees beside the Narnian, her small hands trying to untangle the wet ropes with no success. Looking around, she spotted a knife on Nikabrik's belt and gestured for him to hand it to her. Once she had the dwarf's knife in hand, she was able to cut through Trumpkin's bonds like butter. Trumpkin's eyes were closed and he didn't appear to be breathing.

The young Queen frowned before tipping him to the side and forcefully thumping his back. It only took a few blows before he coughed loudly and expelled water, drawing in deep shuddering breaths and slowly opening his eyes.

Lucy smiled down at him. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, helping him to sit up as he shook his head a little in confusion, taking in the sight of the young boy, the two girls, Nikabrik and the centaur. His gaze finally focused on Susan.

"_**Drop him**_?" he gasped. "Couldn't of thought of anything _**else**_ to say, could you?"

The young girl's jaw nearly dropped, but she held her composure and squared her shoulders. "You could just say _thank you_, you know," she said mildly, fingering her bow. "We _could_ have just left you to your fate."

Glenstorm chimed in, "And perhaps you ought to ask to whom you are speaking before actually speaking, young Dwarf," he said with a small smile flitting across his lips.

Trumpkin's eyes narrowed. "I know you and Nikabrik, Glenstorm. But I've never seen any of you before."

With a small smile, Edmund spoke. "I'm Edmund. These are my sisters, Susan and Lucy."

The dwarf's eyes widened as he took in the names of the three humans.

"K…King Edmund the Just? And Queens Susan the Gentle and Lucy the Valiant?" he asked faintly. "Oh that horn did work then? Forgive me, but I had no idea. I thought you'd be … older …"

Lucy chuckled. "No, I'm afraid you'll just have to be satisfied with us the way we are, Trumpkin," she said. "Now let's get you up and perhaps get you a little something drier to wear?"

He nodded and allowed her to help him to his feet.

The group slowly moved back into the woods to reunite with the column of waiting Narnians.

_A/N: Well, there was some more action. I hope you liked it. And I hope I've made it a bit more realistic about Peter's wound. So now Caspian knows the gist of it, but not the extent. He is obviously suspicious that it is worse than he was told…does that seem a bit better to you all?? Lemme know…please?_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I may or may not update Thursday and Friday. One of my twins has to have a CT scan to rule out hydrocephalus or some other reason for her big head, so I'm going to be a bit of a basket-case Thursday. And I'm bogged with physical therapy Friday. Of course, that said, I might actually write MORE to get my mind off the negatives in my life at the moment…I hope this isn't too bad…obviously I'm not at my best emotionally._

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised and a scene added. Also, I've created a banner for this story. You can find it on my Photobucket account, just go to my profile page on here and at the end of the profile I'll include the link for you!_

**Part Six:**

Edmund hadn't failed to notice his younger sister's frequent glances behind her, as if waiting for Peter to reappear and say he was just kidding and wasn't really going to go to Cair Paravel with just Caspian to watch his back. Each time she turned back, she had a small frown on her face.

"Sire," came a voice from behind the young King. "Behold, Aslan's How."

Edmund spun back around as they cleared the edge of the woods and his eyes widened. A large earthen hill with a massive stone entrance sat regally across an expanse of grassy field. Lucy gasped and Susan exchanged a look with her brother.

"It does look sturdy," she said, hefting the borrowed bow and arrow quiver on her back. Lucy nodded, still silent but with a small smile creeping up on her face. She started bouncing from foot to foot and Edmund took pity on her and moved the group forward.

Lining the depressed path that led into the How was a group of centaurs, young and old, each with a sword held erect forming an archway under which the three Pevensies solemnly walked. The rest of their number trailed quietly behind them.

Edmund was intercepted by the centaur Glenstorm, who pointed to each work station in the main chamber of the How and explained what was already underway to prepare for the upcoming battles.

Before the young man became too engrossed in what was being discussed, Susan called from a nearby darkened tunnel. "Ed! I think you'd better come see this," she said, holding a small torch aloft. Lucy was nodding emphatically behind her.

Glenstorm clopped along beside Edmund as the young King entered the tunnel and gazed upon the walls – each of which depicted a different piece of the Pevensie's history in Narnia. He lightly ran a finger over the image of the four of them standing before their thrones at Cair Paravel before turning to the centaur. "What is this place, Glenstorm?"

The warrior frowned, then hefted a torch and said, "Follow me, my liege, and I shall show you." He led them further into the dark tunnel until they entered what Edmund figured was a large chamber. In moments, the contents were revealed as Glenstorm lit up the room with a touch of his torch.

"Oh my!" Lucy exclaimed, clamping her hands to her mouth. "The Stone Table!"

The three Pevensies eyed the cracked table and Edmund cringed as memories of what Aslan had done for him sprung to mind. Lucy and Susan exchanged glances, both remembering the terrible sight they had witnessed on the table and Glenstorm watched all of them silently.

"This became a sort of shrine," Glenstorm said. "Not just to Aslan and his might, but also to the power of the Deep Magic. I had forgotten it was done after you had already left and not long before the Telmarines completely conquered Cair Paravel. Actually, it was the Faun Tumnus who felt it should be preserved and hidden from the invaders. It has remained untouched."

Edmund took an unsteady step forward and laid a hand on the edge of the table, gazing past it to the bas relief of Aslan carved into the wall beyond the table. He shivered as he imagined what it could have been like to be tied to the table and stabbed through the heart by the White Witch. He had come so close to that reality.

_Peter and Oreius seemed to have things in hand and Edmund felt out of place standing there staring at them, so he excused himself quietly, feigning a need to find a bite to eat and promising to fetch something for Peter after he had finished._

_Meandering through the encampment at this hour, he was surprised to find so many Narnians awake and alert, as if they had slept a full night._

Perhaps they don't need as many hours as a Human does_, he thought to himself as he walked. To be honest, none of the Pevensies really knew much about the people they were about to risk their lives for. _Wish I was that awake_, he lamented, seeing one Faun doing an odd sort of jig to get his armor settled properly on his body._

_Locating the same centaur who had provided them food the previous day, Edmund smiled at her and she nodded back, gesturing toward baskets of toast, fruit and other food._

_Realizing he actually had very little appetite, he took only a few slices of toast for himself and grabbed a few for Peter. Deciding it was rather bland for his brother, he added a few pieces of fruit to the mix before snatching two drinks._

"_Thank you," he said to the centaur._

"_You are most welcome, sire," she replied, bowing lightly to the boy, who awkwardly returned it, trying not to drop or jostle any of the food and drink he held while he did it._

_Balancing everything in his arms, he began the walk back to where he'd left Peter and Oreius outside Aslan's tent. As he rounded his and Peter's tent, he heard voices drift toward him._

"_Aslan gave himself in his stead, I'm sure of it. There is no chance that this is treachery. Aslan is dead, sire. Your sisters must have caught him leaving camp last night and followed him."_

_The voice was Oreius' and Edmund paused, curious about the conversation and fearing if he were to appear, it might end. So he waited._

_Peter's voice was strained. "I know it's true, Oreius. I _know_ Aslan is dead. And deep down, I know he traded places with Edmund. Is it so wrong that I'm glad he did? Does that make me a horrible person?"_

_Edmund never heard Oreius' answer._

Aslan – dead because of me? He took my place on the Stone Table, the Witch didn't just give up her claim to my blood, she accepted another's in my place!

_The young soon-to-be King realized he was no longer holding the two cups of water when he felt the now very wet tunic cold against his skin in the morning breeze. _

_He dropped the food next, in his scramble to get away. He needed to think. As he knocked into a tent post and tore it from the ground, he could hear Peter's voice calling out in confusion._

"_Edmund? Is that you? Did you find food?"_

_Peter must have seen Edmund running because his voice turned to panic. "Ed!" he called out. _

_But the younger boy wouldn't stop. Couldn't. How could he face Peter when it was _his_ fault that his older brother was being forced into the role of leader and would ride at the head of an Army?_

_How could he face _any_ of the Narnians? They had lost their legendary King over all Kings to save the life of a worthless traitor who had nearly gotten his family killed over sweets. Surely they would hate him now? _

_True be told – he hated himself._

"_Why Aslan? Why did you do it? Why not just let me die? What can I do for Narnia? I'm not a warrior, I'm not a King, I'm just a stupid little boy!"_

_He slumped to the ground beside a creek, unwittingly sitting in the same spot that Peter had killed Maugrim just the other day. As the water sloshed near him, the tears fell from his eyes._

"_I want to go home!" He cried. "I don't belong here. All I've brought to Narnia is suffering and death. Please, I want to go home." He was whispering as he finished. Crawling on his hands and knees, he halted at the very edge of the water and looked down at his own reflection in the rippling stream._

_Another reflection soon joined his and he closed his eyes and dropped his head. _Peter_._

"_Edmund?" Peter said, sounding highly uncertain of himself. The brothers hadn't exactly been getting along these last few days. _

_Weeks. _

_Years, really._

My fault again_, Edmund thought. _I hurt everyone. Peter was just trying to help with Dad gone and I made him suffer at every turn with my attitude. Oh, how I wish I could take it all back. Turn back time and do it again.

"_Edmund?" Peter gracefully lowered himself to his knees beside the younger boy, who still refused to look up. "You heard?"_

_With a short nod, and a barely restrained sob, Edmund shifted so he wasn't on hands and knees anymore. But he still wouldn't look up and meet Peter's eyes._

_There was a sigh beside him as Peter settled back on the ground. "That isn't how I wanted you to find out, Ed," he said with sorrow. "I expected as much as soon as we were told Aslan was dead. I didn't want to believe it, but somehow, I just knew it was true."_

_Glancing out the corner of his eyes, Edmund swallowed the bile in his throat and shakily said, "But why would he do that, Peter?" His brother stiffened beside him, but Edmund kept going. "I'm not worth his life!"_

_Blonde head shaking, Peter grabbed Edmund's shoulders and wrenched them around so that the younger boy was forced to follow and face him. _

_Seeing Edmund's head still angled down, Peter, more gently now, took his chin and pushed it up. "Stop that," he said. "You're young. You made a mistake. Aslan wouldn't have done what he did if you weren't worth it. He doesn't strike me as one to make decisions lightly."_

_Tears leaked out of Edmund's eyes and Peter wasn't sure what to do. If it were Susan or Lucy, he would have drawn them into a hug already. But with Edmund, he was never sure what to do._

_When the shaking started, he made his choice._

_The hug was awkward, since neither boy was very used to such displays of affection. But it was exactly what they _both_ needed right then._

"_Edmund, I feel horrible for it, but I'm glad it wasn't you," Peter whispered. "I don't know what I would have done if it had to be you. I imagine I'd have tried to take you and run."_

_Edmund pulled away. "But Peter, Narnia needs you. You would have abandoned them for me?"_

_It was Peter's turn to cast his eyes downward. "I think I would have, Edmund," he said quietly. "I know we never really say it, or even really _show _it, but I love you and can't lose you. Not if I can help it."_

_Perhaps realizing they had enough to be worrying about prompted Peter's next comment. Whatever it was, Edmund was grateful for it because his brother managed to considerably lighten the mood._

"_Oh, but Edmund," he said. "Please, next time you decide to accidentally join the wrong side. Don't pick one that sends wolves after your poor siblings. I nearly drowned in wolf fur after I killed Maugrim."_

"You_ killed that beast?!" Edmund exclaimed. "Do explain, Peter. I hadn't heard…"_

_And just like that, the two soon-to-be Kings picked themselves up, put what was done behind them, and returned to the encampment – only hours away from the biggest battle of their young lives._

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts and Lucy wrapped her arms around Edmund's middle. "When we see Aslan, I'm sure he'd tell you, he'd do it again for you, Ed."

Her brother smiled lightly and ruffled her hair, frowning when it wasn't as easy to do as it had been when she was eight. "Thanks, Lu. Sometimes it is still hard to accept that Aslan effectively died for me on this table."

Gathering his resolve, he shook off the melancholy and turned back to the waiting centaur. "Glenstorm? Let's have a look at the preparations that have been done so far. When King Peter and Prince Caspian return, I want everything to be running smoothly for them."

The centaur smiled and bowed, turning and leading the way back out of the chamber. Edmund nodded to his sisters, sensing they needed more time here, before quickly following the centaur out.

He heard his sisters murmuring to each other, the sounds growing less discernable as he and Glenstorm left the tunnel and reentered the main chamber. "Over here, we have been forging weapons. But we still are very underequipped. I am not certain we will have time to create enough to go around."

Edmund nodded as they moved on to the next area, where armor was being pieced together from whatever could be found. A couple of female centaurs were armed with heavy needles and were sewing together leather tunics at the next station.

The young King was impressed with the number of Narnians that had been found and had agreed to fight. But he knew it wasn't anything near the amount of soldiers the Telmarines could amass.

"Tell me, Glenstorm, how many of the Narnians assembled are actually soldiers and have real training?" Edmund asked as they ended their tour of the How.

They were fairly secluded here and the centaur, after looking around, sighed. "Unfortunately, not as many as I'd like my liege, but I am confident that they will all fight to the best of their ability – and coupled with sheer determination to regain what has been stolen from us, that is probably rather formidable."

Edmund nodded thoughtfully. "I know the power of determination," he said. "My brother and I hadn't much more than that at Beruna. But what does worry me is that no matter how much determination these beings may possess, without weapons, it will do little good."

He began pacing back and forth, well aware that the centaur was following his every move with interest. Running a hand through his hair, Edmund's head suddenly shot up and his eyes glistened with dangerous intent.

"I have an idea."

* * *

_On the road to Cair Paravel…_

"All right, that's it!"

Peter dropped the reins in his hand and leaned forward, resting against Realeza's neck. "I just can't do this anymore," he muttered into her mane, hoping Caspian hadn't heard him even though the Prince was only a few feet away. Raising his voice, he said, "We need to take a break. This isn't doing either of us any good."

Both young men were reeling with fatigue and pain. They had pushed themselves hard – probably too hard – in hopes of reaching Cair Paravel as soon as possible and finding Lucy's precious cordial. For all the times he had not wanted to use it in the past, Peter was finding this time he couldn't wait for the sweet relief of no pain after so long feeling it every day.

"We could use a shelter. It looks like it will rain," Caspian said, gaze locked on the storm clouds visible through the lessening tree cover. As they neared Cair Paravel and the sea, the trees had begun to thin. They would provide little in the way of cover if it should rain.

Peter frowned, also looking up. "It's been a while, but I seem to recall there being a cavern around here. Ed and I would often explore such things around the Cair. It should be close by, if my memory serves me." He slid off the horse, only to find himself immediately clenching his fists and gripping the horse's neck as his knees buckled beneath him. "Damn it," he muttered. "Not now."

Of course his legs wouldn't listen to him and he fell hard. Shaking his head in frustration, he flipped his hair back out of his eyes and met the concerned gaze of his companion. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

Caspian raised his good hand in surrender. "I didn't say a thing, Your Majesty," he said sagely. "I was merely going to ask if you planned to rest a bit before we search out this cave of yours."

Peter smiled ruefully and nodded. "Yeah, that's why I'm sitting here…"

He knew Caspian was not fooled, but he admired that he willingly went along with Peter's oh-so-obvious fib. The latter really didn't want to talk about his paralysis at the moment, though he supposed it was rather unfair to leave Caspian in the dark.

Caspian slid off Destrier and winced upon impact. "Oh that is no fun," he grumbled before joining Peter where the young King had fallen and was now leaning back against Realeza, who had actually laid down beside him.

"I wonder how Ed and the others are fairing," Peter said quietly, eyes roving the nearby forest and trying to determine what direction the cave he had mentioned could be found. He cringed suddenly and Caspian actually growled.

Peter looked up at the Prince and was momentarily taken aback by the look in the young man's eyes. "What?" He began, but Caspian was moving closer to him and had a look in his eyes very similar to the one Ed would get when he was in over-protective mode.

"You are in pain and I don't understand the reason. Why do you hide it from me? We are together in this and we are alone. Are you suddenly going to collapse unconscious on me?" Caspian was obviously in a great deal of pain himself, but he put it aside for the moment. "I do not pretend to understand what you tried to describe of your wound. But there must be more to it than a few-months-old sword wound."

With a sigh, Peter drew his right leg up as close to his chest as he could get it, frowning at the slight tremor still running through it. "I'm sorry, Caspian. I didn't want the Narnians to think their High King was weak." He looked up. "And I admit, I did not want you to see me as such either."

Grabbing a stick from the ground beside him, Peter proceeded to snap it into ever-increasingly smaller pieces. "I told you how I was taken to the healers and treated. What I didn't tell you was that the healer who cared for me was one of the enemy and that he had pretended I was one of their soldiers.

"It did take me months to heal, because the wounds got infected time and time again, but also because, and this is the part I want to stay between us Caspian – also because for a few weeks I couldn't move my legs, nor feel them."

He heard the sharp intake of breath from the Prince beside him and pressed on. "Obviously I got feeling and mobility back, but I've been very weak ever since. And as for the lingering pain in the wound itself…it was immensely difficult to get from the country where I fought to the country where I lived. It was separated by much land and water."

He looked up now, meeting Caspian's gaze. "I didn't want to relay how bad it had been, and in some regards still is, so please don't speak of it."

Caspian nodded. "I will not. And I thank you for sharing this information with me, King Peter." He took hold of Peter's hand and pried the small, remaining piece of twig from his death-grip, frowning at the small grooves the sharp end had cut into Peter's hand. "And you've nothing to be worried about, because no one will think you weak. Not after what I saw before."

Peter looked up at him in confusion. "What do you mean? They'll look at me and say, 'King Peter can barely walk without wobbling.' Some legend I turned out to be, eh?" He sighed and leaned heavily into Realeza's flank.

He was surprised when Caspian chuckled lightly, though it sort of trailed off into a strangled groan by the time he was finished. "Somehow, I don't think that'll be the case," he said. "They'll be too busy wondering just how fast you really _can_ wield your sword. That's what I was thinking…how I'm glad I'm on _this_ side, not that of the Telmarines. And once we find your royal sister's cordial, we'll see just what you can do."

Peter smiled. "I think I needed that," he said, "the reassurance. Naturally my brother and sisters tell me such things all the time, but it's different to hear it from a stranger." He reconsidered, then added, "Though, after what we've been through now I don't think we count as strangers."

Looking up, he frowned. "Here, let me see that again." He reached forward and began to examine the arrow wounds on Caspian's shoulder. As he worked, he realized he'd told the prince a lot about himself, and it was time for a little reciprocation.

"Caspian?" he asked. "Where'd you learn to fight as you do? I was very impressed when we first met and during our little battle. It's different from what I learned, but no less effective."

The young man, wound rebound and throbbing mercilessly, leaned back now and turned to his companion. "I learned from General Glozelle. If this war does happen, which I'm sure it will, you shall likely see him, if not meet him in combat. He is the best swordsman the Telmarines have and taught me everything I know."

Caspian sighed. "It wasn't easy training, I know I ended up with more bruises and cuts than a normal kid falling out of trees would have, but I'm rather glad I did learn so well. I'm only using one blade, but I actually favor two."

"Oh, so does Edmund!" Peter said, finding another parallel between his brother and Caspian besides the dark hair and fierce loyalty. "How hard is that to learn? I mean, I've always used my shield, so I've little experience in that."

While they rested against the horses, the young High King and the Prince regaled each other with tales of weapons training and got to know one another a little better. Peter couldn't help but realize how good a ruler Caspian would turn out to be, and while it did bother him slightly to know he wouldn't be needed if he should have to leave Narnia again, it gave him a sense of relief that his beloved country would be in good hands if he left.

* * *

_The Ford at Beruna …_

"There, that one," Edmund held a spyglass toward Glenstorm. "I think that ought to do for our needs." The centaur took the glass and looked through it before nodding in agreement.

Edmund rose slowly and, under cover of darkness, crept toward the wagon holding all sorts of forged weapons. It would more than equip the remaining Narnians at the How and was relatively unguarded. The young King stealthy approached the first guard and made quick work of him.

The next two were equally as easy to take out, but the fourth was wide awake and had a hand on his sword. He would need to be careful with this one. So, pulling out the little boy in him, he approached, short sword lashed to his back and hidden from view.

"Sir," he said quietly. "I'm looking for my father. Carpesian. Have you seen him?"

The man cocked his head to the side. "Carpesian, you say? I've not heard of him, let alone seen him," he replied, hand tightening on the sword. "What are you doing here anyway? This is a restricted area."

Edmund feigned surprise. "Oh, sorry, didn't know." He smiled now, being close enough for his attack, and with a swift move, he spun, pulled the sword from his back and took down the man before he had a chance to so much as twitch. "Well, actually I _did _know and don't really care…"

He gestured for Glenstorm and a few fauns who had accompanied him to the Telmarine encampment. Inwardly, he thought how incensed Peter would be that he had gone into enemy territory without him. But then again, Peter had gone into the unknown as well, so he wasn't one to talk this time.

"Quickly," Edmund said to the Narnians. "And be quiet!"

The fauns hooked Glenstorm up to the wagon and then took hold of ropes themselves to begin hauling the cart away. Edmund watched warily, twitching anxiously every time the wagon made even the slightest creak.

Thankfully, no one appeared. Edmund was about to leave when he paused and quirked his lips into a small grin. He stooped and picked up a chalk-white stone by his feet and turned around, searching.

"That'll do," he muttered to himself, turning the stone over in his hands and finding a sharp edge. He sidled up to the nearest weapon-laden wagon and quickly wrote a few words onto the wooden door.

For a moment, he contemplated signing it with his own name, but then he realized the Telmarines had suppressed history and wouldn't recognize it. So instead, he slashed a hasty "X" at the bottom and hurried off to join Glenstorm and the fauns for the trip back to the How.

_A/N: Any special requests for the next chapter? I sometimes like to try and oblige people's desires, so if you have something you are just DYING to see in the next chapter, let me know and I'll see what I can do. No promises, of course._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Anxiously awaiting how you guys are going to take this chapter and what it introduces!! May or may not be a great chapter. Evie had her CT scan today, so I was distracted. But enjoy._

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised and extended slightly._

**Part Seven:**

"You're in here again, Lu. This can't be healthy, you know."

Susan settled herself down at the foot of the Stone Table beside her younger sister. Lucy smiled lightly at the jest, but didn't immediately reply. She had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't heard Susan enter, but now that she was here, Lucy had an overwhelming urge to confide in her sibling.

"Su? When those soldiers came and told us Peter had died, did you get angry?" Lucy turned to meet her sister's gaze. "I mean, at Peter for leaving us, or at the Army for taking him?"

For a moment, Susan didn't respond. Her eyes glassed over as if she was reliving that dreadful morning. "I was angry, Lu," she said. "But not at Peter and not at the Army. I think I was most angry at myself."

"Yourself? Why?"

Susan sighed. "I suppose it was because I wished I could have been closer to Peter and I thought that I would never have a chance to tell him some of the things I had been meaning to," she said quietly. "Because we're the oldest, we always seemed to go head to head trying to do right by you and Ed."

Propping her feet up on the stone step, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. "Do you remember when we first entered Narnia? And Ed went to the Witch and I told Peter it was all his fault? We had moments like that an awful lot."

Lucy frowned. "I don't remember you guys being like that…"

Susan laughed, "That's because you weren't meant to witness that. It was usually over campaigns I felt were too dangerous for my baby brother, but that he thought Ed was ready for. Or battles I didn't think you should travel to, but that Peter insisted you go to." She sighed. "Don't get me wrong, we love each other dearly, but we spent so much time arguing sometimes that when I thought he was dead, I was devastated that I hadn't told him more often how much I loved him."

Lucy hugged her sister to her.

"When I heard the soldiers I didn't get angry," Lucy leaned her head against Susan. "I thought to myself he wouldn't have died if we had still been here and for a moment, just a short moment, I thought I would be angry at Aslan for letting us leave." She let out a puff of breath. "I just couldn't be angry at Aslan, though. I didn't know what to think really. That's why I ran. It was hard for me to imagine Peter falling, he was always so…so…"

"Magnificent."

Both girls jumped. "_**Ed**_! Don't scare us like that," Susan said, a hand clutched to her chest as she waited for her heart to calm down.

Lucy nodded at his insertion. "Yes, though, he was always so magnificent here in Narnia and I just couldn't see him falling in a muddy hole somewhere in Greece," Lucy said, leaning back now that the surprise was past.

Edmund settled down on the ground in front of Susan and Lucy. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," he said, looking more at Susan than Lucy. "When we got the news about Peter, I was angry at myself too," he said. "Not because I didn't think he knew how much I loved him, and Su, I'm sure he knew even though you two _do _bicker so…" he trailed off as she smacked him soundly on the back of the head. "No, I was angry that I wasn't there with him. Stupid, I know, but I was."

Lucy patted her brother on the shoulder. "It wasn't stupid, Ed. You were almost always with him here in Narnia. And even though he got hurt, more than any of us actually, he always had you there with him to support him."

Edmund nodded. "And I felt so horrible that I wasn't there to support him this time." He hesitated. "Actually, that is part of what Pete and I discussed that day in the woods; when we were different the next morning. Perhaps talking to him about your feelings would help, Su."

The young woman nodded. "I plan to, just as soon as he gets his High King self back here for me to do it."

The three sat in silence, Edmund leaning back against Susan's shins as she hugged her knees and Lucy leaning into Edmund's side. "Do you suppose we'll stay in Narnia a long time again?" Lucy asked suddenly.

Edmund looked down at her upturned face. "I don't know," he said. "I would like to, though. I feel more alive here. In England, everything is so different and we are so powerless. It's hard." He looked backward at Susan. "I think that was even harder for Peter. Going from King to foot soldier, he had to suddenly follow orders and not give them."

Susan sighed. "I like it here too, but I get the feeling we really should live in our own world. If we were meant to live here, why wouldn't we have been born here and grown up here? I don't know, don't get me wrong, I love being in Narnia. But I also miss Mum."

"Yeah, Mum," Edmund said. "She's the only thing that would draw me back to England. I wish she could come to Narnia and we could all be done with England forever."

Lucy shifted at his side. "We should ask Aslan why that couldn't happen," she said, a tinge of excitement in her voice. "Maybe she could come live here. Should we ask him, Ed? Should we?"

Her brother frowned. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind you asking, Lu. But don't get your hopes up. And we haven't even seen him, perhaps he's isn't coming this time." The mood was getting too somber, so Susan jostled both siblings.

"Come on," she said, rising and dusting herself off. "Let's go explore this place. I know Glenstorm showed you the preparations for battle, Ed, and I know we've already gone through and located weak points, but let's really look around. Those paintings were exquisite and I'd like a better look at them."

The three Pevensies hurried along the corridor and soon were immersed in the artwork on the cavern walls.

* * *

Caspian wearily tugged at the makeshift sling Peter had fashioned from the bottom portion of his tunic. The knot was beginning to wear on his neck and he couldn't help but fidget as it started to chafe the skin.

He was roused from his thoughts when Peter let out a groan. "I felt rain," the latter explained. "And we haven't found the cavern yet. I do hope I remembered right and it's in this direction."

The two began to search with more earnest, separating slightly, but keeping each other in sight. Suddenly, Peter called out, "Caspian, I've found it!" He was waving from a nearby copse of trees. The trees, upon closer inspection, were shielding the entrance to an underground cavern.

"Wow," Caspian said. "This is rather large. I had thought you meant a small cave, just big enough for us to get into, but this is more like a chamber. Is this natural, do you think?"

Peter frowned. "I don't know," he muttered. "I never really thought about that. I mean, Ed and I would explore things like this, but more to meet new Narnians than to examine the caves themselves. This actually used to be the home to a rock spirit. His name was Tobias and he was quite the character."

"Tree spirits, water spirits, rock spirits," Caspian sighed in exasperation. "Was there any part of nature that did not have a spirit? I'll never remember all this." He looked over Peter's shoulder. "This Tobias must have been quite an artist though."

The young High King cocked his head to the side. "No, I don't remember seeing any artwork, why did you say that?" He turned around as he asked, deeming to follow Caspian's gaze, and his eyes widened. "That wasn't there the last time we entered here!"

Moving forward, the two drew up to the back of the cavern. A small area had seemingly been chiseled out to form a recess. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to frame an inscription.

"_In peril, he shall call them,  
and quickly they shall come.  
One like stalwart rocks,  
one like a gentle breeze,  
one has learned acceptance,  
and one overflows with faith.  
The Four shall impart a special gift  
upon the One who called,  
and when he can wield the blade,  
he shall bring balance to all."_

Peter's eyes shifted to Caspian as they finished reading the inscription. "That sounds like some sort of prophecy," the young Prince said in confusion. "And it sounds strangely to do with us."

The High King nodded in agreement. "That it does. I wonder what this gift is, though. It doesn't really say. I can understand the call, you blew the horn, and a blade, well I don't know about that either. But I can see you bringing balance," Peter hesitated before adding. "I imagine a Telmarine leading the Narnians would indicate balance. And if we win this, it will come to be."

Caspian looked up, his gaze sharp. "What do you mean?"

Peter sighed. "I get the feeling we, my brother and sisters and I, aren't here to become the rulers of Narnia all over again, Caspian. We had our time and it was a Golden Age. Narnia needs a new ruler for a new time." He turned around and looked out toward the entrance of the cave where it was now pouring down rain. "I suppose I also didn't tell you about my weakness because I knew, as soon as I met you, that you had a destiny. I feared it would leave no place for me."

He turned back. "Bit jealous, really," he said with a sad smile.

Caspian, fiercely loyal as he was, shook his head. "I would never dream of taking your place, _King_ Peter," he said, intentionally throwing in the title. "I will follow you until the day you leave, or until the day _you_ deem I'm ready for such a role."

Peter felt a weight lift from his chest and was momentarily surprised by it. He hadn't realized just how worried he had been that Caspian would move in and take his place, leaving him to figure out where he belonged.

He had no way of knowing if his time as High King _was_ nearing an end, but when he thought about how he would feel if it did, he found he wasn't as angry as he would have imagined. He was less worried about the title than he was about losing the ability to help people.

"Something is still bothering you," Caspian said. "Will you tell me?"

Peter hesitated again. Why should he? Sure, he and Caspian were depending on each other for protection, but why should he bare his deepest fears to this relative stranger? For a moment, he wasn't going to, but then he remembered how much better he'd felt after speaking with Edmund about his fears.

"I worry that once I give up my place, I'll be unable to help people," he said. "Ever since the first time we sat on our thrones in Cair Paravel and heard our first session of court, I've made it my life's work to aid those in need. I've done much of it through battle, but not all. My time back home was hard for me because I was nobody … don't dispute it, I really was…"

Caspian stopped shaking his head in the negative at that. "You are who you make yourself," he said to Peter. "If you want to be magnificent in your world, I'm sure you can find a way."

Peter slumped to the ground. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like it."

Caspian sat as well. "I don't know your world, but I'm getting to know you and I don't think you're one to give up. Not from what I've seen."

"No, I'm not," Peter answered. "Thanks for reminding me." He looked back up at the inscription. "I'm not sure what the gift is, but I get the feeling it isn't something material, since we have nothing to give you. At least, I don't _think_ we do."

With a pained grunt, Caspian twisted toward the cavern mouth. "The rain is already slowing. It doesn't usually last long. Perhaps we should be going. We are close to Cair Paravel and could reach there by nightfall."

Glad for the change in topic, Peter nodded and stood shakily. "I feel like a very old man," he quipped, listening as his joints popped and his back cracked. "I wonder if Lu's cordial can cure weary bones."

The effectiveness of Lucy's cordial had been weighing on his mind for awhile now. He couldn't help but wonder if the cordial would work on a wound not sustained in Narnia. Or on a wound that was already so old. Or on whatever damage was causing the weakness in his legs. So many questions and only a small drop of liquid would be able to answer them.

The two rode in the dwindling rain until the trees thinned to nothing and the horses slowed their gait as they plodded through a sandy beach. Peter turned his gaze upwards and let out a dismayed gasp. "Cair Paravel…" he whispered, looking at what was once a magnificent palace overlooking the sea and was now no more than stone ruins.

Caspian slowed his mount to a stop beside Peter. "I heard it was many weeks before the castle Cair Paravel fell," he said. "They did not go down easily. You would have been proud of their bravery."

Peter nodded, still speechless. It had been his home for years in Narnia, and seeing the Cair in such a state was heartbreaking. The beautiful halls and gardens, the four thrones of prophecy, the glass roof and intricate columns – all destroyed.

"We'll have to walk from here," Peter said, dismounting carefully before guiding Caspian down. "Soon, my friend, we will feel better." Caspian grumbled a quiet "I hope so" under his breath and Peter chuckled. "Me too."

They took a winding path from the beach to the ruins. Peter remembered many a beautiful evening when he and Lucy would run down the path to watch the sunset. Now the path was overgrown and barely passable, and the recent rain hadn't helped any, making the grass beneath their feet slick and slippery.

And Peter and Caspian were definitely _not_ running. They were both pulling stamina from somewhere down by their feet, since they'd used just about all they had already.

Peter kept a tight hold on his sore torso and grumbled under his breath about great castles _having _to overlook the sea from a "ruddy cliff-top" while Caspian muttered something quite similar about Cair Paravel being designed by some flying Narnian that didn't have to scale the side of a mountain to get to it.

About two-thirds of the way to the top, Peter slipped on a leaf-strewn rock and scrambled to regain his balance. Reacting to the other young man's fall, Caspian threw out an arm to steady Peter.

He'd moved automatically, but regretted it when pain zipped through his shoulder. Caspian had steadied Peter, all right, but with the wrong arm.

"Thank you," Peter said. He quickly frowned and added, "Are you all right?" seeing that the Prince's face was scrunched up and his eyes closed as he worked to steady his breathing.

After a moment, Caspian nodded. "F…fine. Just, reflexes aren't always so good," he said slowly. "I'm glad to have helped you; I just wish I'd used my _other_ arm."

Peter cringed. "Do you need to rest? Do you want me to look at it again? Do you…"

Holding up a hand, Caspian stalled Peter in mid-tirade. "No, King Peter," he said. "I'd much rather get off this path and locate your sister's cordial."

Nodding, Peter turned and the two more cautiously than before continued up the path.

Reaching the top, they paused a moment to catch their breath and look out to the sea. It trailed off into the horizon and they watched as the sky began to take on the bright colors of sunset.

Turning away from the edge of the cliff, Peter took in the sight of the ruins of Cair Paravel. His heart ached as he looked at the tumbled stones, half-destroyed walls and overgrown gardens. In his mind's eye, he could see the halls and gardens that had been his home for fifteen years. He could see it as clearly as if it was just yesterday. He clenched his hands at his side, his nails digging into his palms as he fought back the memories.

Beside him, Caspian was looking around. "I can tell this was a beautiful place, once."

Peter nodded tightly. "It was. It was one of the most beautiful places in Narnia. The gardens were tended to by the fauns and the tree spirits. The streams and pools and ponds were clean and clear-flowing thanks to the water spirits. Every night, music would float through the gardens and echo through the hallways. The naiads in the sea would sing to greet the sun every morning." He shook his head. "This hurts. It was my home for fifteen years, Caspian."

The Prince laid his good hand on Peter's shoulder "I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now. Do you need a moment?"

Peter took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, thank you, Caspian. We need to find that hidden chamber."

"Do you know where to look?" Caspian asked.

Peter looked around, trying to imagine how the castle looked in his day and figure out where they were. The path that they had just climbed … that had led to the balcony that overlooked the cove and the beach. That balcony had been just off the throne room, which meant that the dais holding the four thrones would have been slightly ahead and off to the right.

He stepped forward past several small piles of rocks that would have been the pillars that framed the doors leading onto the balcony. Caspian trailed him as he turned slowly to the right, spotting what remained of a stone platform with three steps leading up to it. The marble was cracked and chipped, but still sound enough to support their weight.

Peter led the way up to the platform, climbing the three steps. On the platform stood four small piles of stone, arranged in groups of two with a larger space between them. Peter stared at them for a moment, remembering, before he walked over to the one closest to his left hand. He stood there for a moment before turning so his back was to the pile of stone.

"King Peter?" Caspian asked, seeing the solemn look that came over the other boy's face.

Peter glanced to his right and imagined Edmund sitting there, dressed in his royal robes. Then he glanced to his left and could picture Susan and Lucy sitting in their thrones, garbed in their rich gowns with their beautiful crowns gracing their heads.

"This was the throne room," Peter said softly. "Here on this dais were the four thrones of prophecy. Edmund, myself, Susan and Lucy. Above us the glass and crystal ceiling and lining the hall the marble and gold inlaid statues." He sighed again.

Caspian nodded in understanding and gave his companion a moment before stepping up beside him and resting his hand on his shoulder again. "King Peter, we don't have much time. Do you know where to look for the treasure chamber?"

Peter slowly nodded. "I have some thoughts. It would have to be on this level, not only because all of the private rooms and suites were on the upper levels, but because this level is all that is left. There are no walls left, which means it wasn't built in a passage designed to connect the rooms, or your ancestors would have found it. And the legend says only the Kings and Queens of Old could find it; that implies that it's here somewhere. This was where we spent most of our time."

Caspian looked around at what had been the throne room. "Somewhere here? But everything is overgrown. We don't have time to cut away all the debris and brush to find it."

Peter thought hard. "The story Trufflehunter told said that Mr. Tumnus was one of the last to escape the castle. He was one of Lucy's best friends, and our most trusted advisor beside Oreius, our centaur general. If he was the one who planned the treasure chamber, he'd put it somewhere where he would know we'd find it if we ever returned. Somewhere only we would think to look."

His eyes roamed what was left of the room, but if he was honest with himself, there was a very good chance that the treasure chamber had already been discovered. That would explain how Susan's horn had ended up in the hands of Caspian's professor thirteen hundred years later.

_Somewhere only we would think to look. If it was hidden in the walls anyone might have found it. No, I have to believe that it's still here. But where?_

Nothing was left of the room except the floor…could it be an underground chamber? The Telmarines wouldn't think to look for one there. There were storage cellars and such, but if Peter was right, the chamber would be buried deeper than any other chamber.

"Check the floor, Caspian. Look for any stone that might be able to be moved."

"An underground chamber?" the Prince asked, moving off the dais and beginning to check the exposed stones.

Peter nodded.

Slowly, the two of them combed every inch of exposed floor, brushing aside the leaves and vines to reveal more of it. All of the stones, however, were still tightly joined together, so closely that there was no way any of them could be moved to conceal a hidden chamber.

Peter slumped as he realized that there was no sign of a hidden chamber. "Damn. It may have already been discovered."

Caspian sighed. "I am sorry, King Peter."

Peter's eyes fell on the dais again and he suddenly stiffened, making his wound pull painfully. "Wait…there's one place we didn't look." He headed up to the dais again. _The thrones couldn't have been moved…they were solid marble inlaid with gold. The floor?_

Carefully, he checked the stones around the four thrones, starting with his own. Nothing. He slumped again and moved to stand between the two sets of thrones, his foot kicking at the dirt that had gathered on the stones.

He froze as something caught his eye. The light of the setting sun reflected off the marble floor and a small design seemed to be etched into the stone. With difficulty, he knelt on the stone and brushed the rest of the dirt away, revealing the design. "Caspian, I found it!"

The Prince hurried up and knelt beside Peter. "What is that?"

"Our seal. The seal of the Kings and Queens of Old," Peter said, his fingers tracing the etched seal. "We each had a signet ring with this seal, and we used it anytime we signed a document that had our joint approval on it. My sword and shield," he pointed out each piece of the design as he mentioned it, "Susan's bow, arrows, and horn. Lucy's cordial and dagger. The broken wand of Jadis, which was Edmund's personal seal. Aslan's image, and the crown to represent our royal status."

He felt around the edge of the stone the seal was embossed into, looking for some kind of catch or lever that would allow him to open it. The stone appeared to be more loosely set than the others around it, although it was subtle and unless someone actually felt around it the way he was, it wasn't obvious to the naked eye. After a moment, his finger brushed over what felt like a small indentation in the stone. Frowning, he pressed down on it and there was a grinding noise.

He and Caspian scrambled back quickly as the stone, about half the size of a grown man, rose upward about three inches and stayed there. Peter and Caspian exchanged looks before putting their hands underneath the stone and pulling. Despite their wounds, the adrenaline and anticipation of being healed gave them the strength to lift the stone out of the way, levering it into a vertical position and revealing a flight of stone steps that disappeared into the ground beneath the dais.

Gesturing for Caspian to follow him, Peter led the way into the chamber, inching along the stairs until his hand touched a torch holder, and thankfully the torch in it. He frowned then, realizing he didn't have matches.

"Damn," he said quietly. "I have no way to light this."

He was taken by surprise when a hand fell on his shoulder, holding out something small. Peter reached up and grasped the object and was even more confused. "Matches! Where did you…no…never mind." He and Caspian both blurted out "Edmund" at the same time. "He was always thinking ahead. I tend to just rush in," Peter said ruefully as he struck the matches and lit the torch.

Caspian was eying the matchbook with interest. "I admit I did not believe King Edmund when he told me these would make fire. Your world must be very advanced." They continued down several flights of stairs and at the bottom Peter pushed open a gate to reveal four chests and four statues dominating the chamber, with various other treasures strewn about.

"Well, at least it is still here," Peter said, making a beeline for the chest that he hoped would hold Lucy's cordial. He gazed up at the visage of the statue and remembered his sister as she had been before they left Narnia.

"That is Queen Lucy?" Caspian asked with wide eyes. "This is more how I expected you all to be when I was told the horn might summon you. Not that I don't appreciate you being here in this form."

Peter nodded distractedly as he dug into the chest and then gasped. "There!"

Reaching down deep, he came back up with a small, red case and diamond bottle clutched in his right hand. Now that it was in hand, Peter found himself almost afraid to use it. Caspian leaned closer. "That is it?"

Nodding, Peter uncorked the small bottle and turned to his companion. "You first," he said, hand shaking a little as he metered out just one drop. He smiled when Caspian's eyes grew even larger. "I take it that it worked?"

The young Prince nodded, prodding his shoulder and shrugging it to and fro to test mobility. "I feel like I was not even injured," he said, amazed. "I had heard of the magic of Queen Lucy's cordial, but I did not fully believe it until now."

Peter smirked. "I admit I was a little incredulous about it when Father Christmas said it could cure any injury," he said, holding up the small bottle to the torchlight. "But I'm very grateful it does." Caspian didn't need to ask to understand he was referring to Edmund at Beruna. Everyone knew _that_ story.

"Well?" Caspian prompted. "What are you waiting for, then?"

The prince gestured for the cordial bottle. It was far easier for someone else to meter out a drop than to try and give it to yourself, so Peter let Caspian do it for him. He was used to the odd sensation of wounds healing from past experiences with the cordial.

What he wasn't prepared for was the sudden pain. He winced and pulled away, turning to face the wall behind him. He was vaguely aware of Caspian following him and speaking, but he was in too much discomfort to respond or fully comprehend what he was hearing.

"King Peter!"

Finally, Caspian's voice got through. "W…what?"

The prince drew Peter around to face him. "It didn't hurt me, what happened?"

Trying to catch his breath, Peter didn't answer immediately. "I'm not really sure," Peter said, panting. "It's…never done that before." He took stock of his body now, pleased that there appeared to be no pain in his torso. To be sure, he tugged at his clothing until he could reach the old wound. Sure enough, it was now nothing more than a long scar.

He looked back up to see Caspian gazing at the wound. He didn't speak, and for that Peter was grateful. When the High King went to take a step, however, he realized something was amiss.

"_**Ouch**_!" he called out, stumbling. Pain zipped from his feet to the middle of his back. He stopped moving and waited for it to die down. "What in the world?" he muttered, tentatively taking another step. This was painful as well, but less so. He took another, and again it had lessened.

Gesturing for Caspian to join him, Peter walked slowly around the room, and the prince remained vigil in case he needed to help him. Soon, Peter was walking without pain for the first time in a very long time. He smiled suddenly. "Nothing, no more pain," he said happily. "It had me worried for a moment there. I guess it just took longer than a normal wound."

His companion nodded. "Yes, it would seem. But at least it worked."

Peter moved back toward the chests and began to remove things to bring back to his siblings. Lucy's cordial went on his belt and her small dagger beside it. He eyed the armor next and frowned. "We aren't as big as our adult selves," he said, frowning. Then his eyes focused on a nearby corner. "But we're about the size we were at Beruna."

Moving off, he pulled down the chainmail on the left. It had a small tear in the side and he fingered it, pushing back memories of the White Witch and his brother. "How do you suppose we can get this stuff back?"

Caspian approached him. "Well, you could just wear yours, I guess. We'll have to lash King Edmund's to my horse. And you can take Queen Susan's things." He gestured to the leather top and arm guards Susan wore in battle.

Peter's gaze shifted to his own red tunic, emblazoned with the lion, and the chainmail and armor beside it. With a small sigh, he nodded and pulled it down. "I'll need a hand," he said, holding up some of the pieces.

Together, he and Caspian managed to get Peter into the old armor. It still fit well, though the mail was a little short since he had gotten taller. Peter turned to his own trunk and opened it.

He quickly frowned. "Well, that's odd," he mumbled. Pulling out the shield he had received from Father Christmas, he was dismayed to see that Rhindon was not amongst his belongings. "I guess it wasn't recovered…" he said quietly, obviously disappointed. "Well, there's nothing to be done for it."

He shut the chest and moved to Edmund's. Extracting two swords, he handed them to Caspian and then handed him his brother's shield. Moving still further on, he pulled open Susan's chest and took out her bow and quiver full of arrows.

Since he had his shield lashed to his back, he slung the bow over his shoulder as best he could and held the quiver. "I think that's it," he said, still eying his trunk with a frown. Turning, he motioned for Caspian to go up the stairs first. Laden down with Edmund's armor, Peter wanted to make sure the prince didn't trip and fall.

It was a bit treacherous heading back down the slippery path to the beach where Destrier and Realeza were grazing nearby. It only took a few moments to lash bits of armor to the horses and strap as many of the weapons to their person as they could.

The High King, looking much as he had at Beruna, and the Telmarine prince began the return trip to Aslan's How, feeling quite a bit better than before – despite now being a fair few pounds heavier.

_A/N: So, yeah, the prophecy might sound a bit lame…but I wasn't all that inspired by the prophecy in LWW either, so yeah…I may or may not post again tomorrow, we shall have to wait and see what happens with Evie today. For those of you who want to see the night raid and other interesting battles, the prophecy won't change the plot THAT much, so you'll still get it. _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you to all who wished my daughter well. As it turns out, the results of her CT scan came back and she does have some extra fluid around the brain. We are awaiting more information. That said, I want to thank my old beta, phoenixqueen, who has come back to help me bounce around ideas to make this a better story and take my mind off my Evie's diagnosis. Now, on with the story!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised…scenes have been altered slightly._

**Part Eight:**

"Oh, Susan, Edmund, look at this!" Lucy was waving excitedly from a nearby alcove, nearly jumping up and down as she did so. "It's beautiful, and I think its Aslan and Mr. Tumnus!"

Susan and Edmund hurried over, each carrying a torch, and the alcove was soon brightly lit. The three siblings gazed at the beautiful wall painting that depicted Aslan, a faun that resembled Mr. Tumnus, and a beautiful sword.

"I don't remember this ever happening," Edmund said. "I wonder what it means." He moved closer to the wall, holding his torch close to it. "Wait! That looks like Peter's sword!"

Lucy and Susan crowded around him. They studied the sword that the faun was reverently holding laid across his palms. It did indeed look like the sword of the High King. "I don't get it," Lucy said with a frown. "Why would Aslan give the sword to Mr. Tumnus? Did he rule when we left, perhaps?"

Her siblings shrugged. "Is there another painting? Might the story continue?" Edmund asked.

Lucy turned around and pointed to her right. "I didn't go that way yet, maybe down there?"

Nodding, Susan led the way, her torch casting a soft glow on the walls as she went. There were paintings in sight, but they appeared to have nothing to do with the mysterious image of Tumnus and Aslan.

She was about to give up when she drew abreast of another painting, this one of just Mr. Tumnus holding a sword reverently across his palms and leaning down to a chest of sorts.

Moving closer, she suddenly yelped in pain and grabbed her foot, rubbing her toes to dispel the pain.

She had smacked into an outcropping of stone below the painting, only a foot or so up off the tunnel floor. The light from the torch hadn't revealed it when she had held it up to the painting.

"I wonder what that is," she said, pointing to it as she dropped to one knee beside it and gestured for Edmund to bring more light.

The boy moved up and held out his light. There appeared to be a lid and a base section of stone and he held out his torch to Susan, who took it from his hand, still ruefully rubbing her foot, and watched as Edmund began pushing against the heavy stone lid to what looked to be a chest carved right into the stone wall and floor.

The lid wouldn't budge.

"Well that's odd," the boy muttered, sitting back on his heels and peering at the lid that wouldn't shift even a fraction from where it was seated. He looked to Susan, who was staring at the lid closely.

The older girl suddenly moved the torch in her hand closer and the three siblings spied a familiar symbol etched roughly into the top of the stone lid, outlined by a crevice in the shape of a circle.

Lucy gasped. "Our seal!"

All three of them remembered the signet rings they had once worn with the beautiful symbol depicting the gifts from Father Christmas and Jadis' broken wand. "Wonder what that's there for?" Lucy said, reaching forward to run her fingers over the seal.

She jerked back when the portion of stone the seal adorned sank into the lid a little and there was a whoosh as what must have been trapped air escaped from under the lid.

Edmund exchanged glances with his sisters before once again pushing against the large stone. This time, it did move.

It crashed to the ground and he bent forward as his sisters shined the lights inside.

Lucy and Susan leaned in over his shoulders. Upon seeing the contents of the crevice, the three gasped in surprise and exchanged shocked glances.

* * *

_Deep in the woods beyond Cair Paravel…_

"This is about where we fought those soldiers," Caspian remarked, gesturing to where plants had been trampled and tracks had been left. "Since there are no bodies here, there may be more Telmarine soldiers in the area."

Peter nodded. "We should be on the lookout then," he said. The day was getting hotter and the young High King was finding his armor to be quite a burden, where normally he was glad of it. Of course _normally _he didn't go around wearing said armor as a way of transporting it.

Every so often he felt a small twinge in his back or legs. He hoped it was simply the cordial finding stray damage to heal. The pain had caught him completely off guard and he was eager to speak to Lucy about it. Perhaps she had encountered someone else who had reacted similarly.

"King Peter," Caspian said, interrupting the latter's thoughts. "If I may be so bold, could you tell me more about your time as High King? When you tell the stories, you give them so much more life."

Peter chuckled. "Yes, well, I guess my siblings and I would have a slightly different view of things than the history books. Was there something in particular you wished to hear?"

Caspian looked unsure of himself, but he did speak finally. "I was hoping to hear of the campaign against the giants in Ettinsmoor. The few remaining tales say it was a difficult campaign and I wondered if hearing of it could help prepare me for what we are going to go through. Though, I realize hearing and living are totally different things."

His companion's eyes clouded, but only for a moment. "I can tell you of the campaign, Caspian, but for some of it I was very much unconscious. You see, at one point, the giants claimed they wished to treat with us. It was, of course, not so. But we were so hoping for peace, we went off to meet them and were ambushed."

Caspian frowned. "I had not heard this. Little is written or remembered of that campaign, I'm afraid. Almost everything was lost when Narnia was overwhelmed. But that sounds like a painful memory, perhaps I should chose another?"

With a small wave, Peter shook his head. "No, I've learned recently it is better to face these memories head on than to hide them away to eat away at me. There is strength in facing painful things."

Settling more comfortably on the horse, Peter began the tale.

_The letter had come in the morning. Barely legible, it had asked for a chance to speak with the High King and his general before waging battle. It was highly unusual for the giants of Ettinsmoor to want to talk, not fight, but if it meant no more bloodshed, Peter was willing to give it a try._

_Edmund wasn't so sure._

"_Peter I really don't think you should go!" He jogged to catch up to his brother, who was already dressed in his mail and armor and about to mount his horse, a stallion of the deepest black. "Peter, please stop!"_

_His older brother did stop at Edmund's plea and turned around to face him. "Ed, I have to give it a chance. If it is true and they do want to treat, we might be able to save many, many lives."_

_Edmund was shaking his head. "I have a really bad feeling about this, Pete. I don't want you to go. This just seems so … so unusual and I don't want you to go!" He was babbling now, something he had rarely been caught doing since the Pevensies had taken the thrones at Cair Paravel a few years ago._

_The odd behavior was enough to really make Peter pause. "What do you think is going to happen, Ed?" his brother asked, turning fully to meet his brother's gaze and letting his arms fold across his chest._

_On the spot now, Ed frowned. "I just think they want to lure you away so they can attack us, Peter. Without you here, they must believe they can rout us since the army rallies behind the High King."_

_His brother pursed his lips. "It's a possibility, Ed. But honestly, do you really think I can let the chance of peace without battle go? I wouldn't be a very good king if I didn't take a chance now and then to try and avoid fighting."_

_Edmund let out an exasperated breath. "Fine. But don't you dare get yourself killed, oh mighty High King Peter. Because if you do I'll have to revive you and kill you again myself."_

_Peter laughed out loud and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I'll come back, Ed. Don't I always?"_

_As he mounted the horse and rode to join Oreius, a few other centaurs and the strongest of the fauns, Edmund muttered. "You _do_ Peter, but not always in such great shape…"_

_He turned and set off to find the centaur commander that would be remaining with him and the bulk of the Narnian troops. _

_Peter, though he didn't show it to his brother, was just as antsy about this supposed "treat" as Edmund was -- only he knew he couldn't just ignore it like his feelings were telling him to do._

"_Oreius, do you think this is an attempt to lure us away so they can attack the main force?" Peter asked a short time later as they rode side by side toward the meeting place set out in the giants' letter._

_The centaur general frowned. "I don't know. It could be either that or an attempt to ambush us."_

_Peter cringed. He hadn't really thought about that. Perhaps the giants weren't smart enough to think of it either and that somewhat comforted him. But the comfort didn't last long._

_One moment Peter was seated atop his stallion, riding beside Oreius; the next he was flat on his back with a spear through his upper chest, just below his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. It was nothing short of agony when he tried to move, so he quickly decided that was a bad idea._

"_King Peter!"_

_Oreius moved to stand guard over his fallen liege, as the fauns and remaining troops jumped toward the attacking giants. Peter, gasping in pain, managed to address Oreius. "I guess…y…you were…right."_

_The centaur chanced a glance at his king and cringed at the blood rapidly spreading out beneath the young king's shoulder, seeping through the green grass. Peter was clutching the spear and trying to regulate his breathing._

_Oreius called out to the nearest faun. "Claris! I need you here!"_

_The faun in question nodded and withdrew from the battle. "Yes, General?" He eyed the ailing king with trepidation._

"_You must remove the spear and we must get His Majesty back to the encampment. This is no place to treat his wound," the centaur general said, swiping viciously at an approaching giant that had the misfortune of getting within range of his double blades._

"_R…remove it?" Claris stuttered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I…I…that will hurt. A lot."_

_Peter grasped at the faun's shin, since it was the only thing he could readily reach. "Please," he gasped, knowing this was serious and he would bleed out if he didn't get medical attention._

_Claris' eyes widened, but they also hardened along with his resolve. "Yes, sir, I'll take care of it, General Oreius," he said, kneeling beside the eighteen-year-old High King. "Sire, I suggest you bite on this --" he handed Peter a piece of leather that he cut from his sword belt. "You'll want to keep that tongue, I expect."_

_Peter couldn't laugh, but he could appreciate Claris' attempt to remain upbeat despite the gravity of the situation. He cringed though when Claris ducked suddenly and an arrow whizzed over his head. _

"_You must hurry, Claris," Oreius grunted, running a giant through with his right sword, and slashing another giant across the thighs with his other. "They are going to overwhelm us soon."_

_Letting out a long huff of breath, Claris reached forward and got a good, firm grasp on the spear handle, taking hold of it just above where Peter's death grip clutched it. He met the king's eyes and then looked down at his hands pointedly._

_Shaking, Peter removed his own hands from the spear and brought them to clutch at the ground beside him. With a short nod of satisfaction, Claris readjusted his stance and before giving the High King any warning, pulled sharply upward on the spear, dislodging it from the ground and the young man._

_The scream made all the combatants jump in surprise and Oreius stamp his foreleg angrily on the floor as he knocked a giant to the ground before beheading it in anger. Peter tried to curl in on himself, but Claris' hands were putting pressure on the bleeding wound and preventing him from doing so._

_Seeing his chance, Oreius swung hard at the giant currently engaging him, and then turned hurriedly to Claris. "Get him up on my back and I'll carry him back with haste," the general said. It was unusual for a centaur to carry a being on his back and Claris' eyes were wide as he scooped King Peter up under the shoulders and behind the knees like a small child. _

_The cry was weaker this time, but still hardened both Claris and Oreius' resolve, not to mention bolstered the ferocity the other Narnian guard fought with. There were casualties already, three fauns, a leopard and a centaur. They only hoped their High King didn't join that number._

_Seeing the young man in question beginning to lose his battle to remain conscious, Claris frowned. "General, he isn't going to be able to hang on…"_

_Oreius grabbed a length of rope on his left and tossed it at the faun. "Lash him on, then," he said, chancing another glance at the young High King and for a moment seeing the face of his brother, younger still, staring up at him in pain from a ravine he had fallen into and broken his leg – the shattered bone tearing through the skin and gleaming in the waning sunlight._

_It was why Oreius always carried a length of rope now, because that time Edmund had been stranded for hours, in pain and losing blood, before they could backtrack and descend the ravine. It would never happen again on his watch._

_Shaking off his reverie, he surprised Claris again when he bent his forelegs and lowered himself close to the ground. It was a vulnerable position for the general and a giant saw this and took advantage of it._

_An arrow flew at them from behind Claris and Peter and hit Oreius high up on his left shoulder. He grunted and jerked forward at the impact, but gritted his teeth and urged the faun to go on. "Hurry!" he gasped._

_Claris placed Peter astride Oreius' back, but before moving to lash the King to the centaur's back, he reached up while the general was kneeling and with a quick, abrupt motion, seized the arrow shaft and yanked it back out of the wound._

_Oreius yelled in surprise and cursed the smaller faun viciously as Claris took the rope and began winding it around both Peter and the centaur, careful to avoid the wounds._

_Peter was soon situated so that he was sitting astride Oreius' back, right behind his torso. The centaur grabbed the King's arms and wrapped them around his middle, using a little force when Peter tried to pull them back to relieve the pain in his upper chest. Fiery pain zipped through the general's shoulder, but he pushed it aside knowing his King's life depended on him. _

_Rising, he made sure Peter felt secure and then took off._

_While he ran, Oreius frowned as he felt the blood sliding down his back and sides to fall to the ground. It was far too much and he had no idea if King Peter was even conscious anymore._

_The answer came to him when he jumped over a small rock formation and his charge let out a gut-wrenching scream – surprisingly loud for one in his condition, actually. "I'm sorry, my liege," Oreius muttered, gripping the arms in his hands tighter in apology._

_He almost smiled when he felt a muttered "S'ok" against his shoulder, where Peter's head was wearily resting._

_"Hold on a little longer, Sire, and I'll have you to the healers and your brother."_

_There was no response, but he felt the warm breath on his shoulder and took comfort in that. A few moments later, he heard a weak voice chime in again. "You…hurt?"_

_Oreius gathered Peter was feeling the blood running down his own back from the arrow wound. "It's nothing, King Peter. A mere scratch. Don't try to talk, you need to conserve your strength."_

_Galloping as fast as he dared with the wounded King on his back and with his own stinging and painful injuries, Oreius soon came close enough to the encampment to draw the attention of the watch._

"_The general approaches," rang out from the nearest and echoed through the camp._

_Oreius could see a lone figure burst from a tent, dressed in a red tunic with an embossed golden lion and silver armor. King Edmund. As he drew nearer, he could see the young King's eyes lock on his charge and widen to impossible size._

_There was a clear shout of "Peter!" before King Edmund started running toward them. Oreius pushed out a bit more speed and met the younger King before he'd moved too far from the tents. He skidded to a halt before the Just King, breathing quickly and harshly from the exertion._

"_My…My King, your brother, he is badly injured. You'll have to get him down from there," he panted, not yet relinquishing his grip on the High King's arms._

_He heard a quiet "Ed?" from behind him and cringed, realizing Peter was still conscious. Oreius knelt again so that the younger King could reach the wounded form of the High King. Edmund wasted no time in cutting the rope that was holding his brother on the centaur. Peter was heavy with all the armor, but Edmund bore his weight anyway, knees straining to hold the extra._

_"Peter?" he whispered, eyes wide as he took in the bloody mess his brother was in. Peter's eyes fluttered open, but remained glassy and unfocused. He spoke so quietly that Edmund had to lean close to hear him.  
__  
"You 'ere right, Ed," he slurred. "S'rry."_

_Strength spent, Peter's head fell heavily onto his brother's shoulder and Edmund nearly bit through his lip in fear. "Peter, no way, don't even think about it. Wake up right this instant, Peter Pevensie!"_

_He was wobbling under his burden, but soon burst into the medical tent and deposited the limp form of his brother onto the nearest pallet. "Please, you have to help him!" he cried, unable to tear his eyes from his brother's too pale face._

_The head healer, a faun named Marnus, hurried forward and began to remove the armor and cut the chainmail away from the young High King's wound. "What happened?" he asked as he worked._

_Edmund shook his head from the corner he had backed into. "I…I don't know," he muttered, stomach roiling at the sight of so much blood. "Is he…is he going to make it, Marnus?" he whispered._

_Marnus' hands momentarily froze, but he didn't look up at the younger King. After a few seconds, he replied, "I think you'd best send for Queen Lucy and her cordial, King Edmund. I doubt there is much I can do with so much blood loss and the damage done here."_

_Oreius burst into the tent suddenly, nearly toppling the healer over as he rushed to grab more compresses for the High King's wound. "King Edmund!" he called out. "The giants are attacking, Your Majesty! You must do something!"_

_Edmund's eyes once again took on the look of a deer in headlights back in England. "B…but, Peter!"_

_Oreius situated himself in front of Edmund, effectively cutting his view of Peter off. "You can do nothing more for your brother than to send word to Queens Lucy and Susan, sire. You are needed in your brother's stead to lead the battle. Don't let his efforts die by not acting. King Peter wished to end this as bloodlessly as possible. It didn't work. But it can still go in our favor."_

_Edmund looked up and met Oreius' eyes. "You're right. He would want me to finish this," he said with conviction, drawing himself up to his full height. With one last look toward Marnus and Peter, he slapped the tent flap open and hurried out._

"_You, there, Gripehook, I'll need a message delivered to the Queens' encampment with the greatest of haste." He took a proffered parchment and quickly wrote out a message. _"Peter badly wounded. Need Lu's cordial. Come quickly and be careful, the giants are attacking as I write."

_He watched for a moment as Gripehook took to the skies and headed off to where Susan and Lucy were camped with the army reserves. He could only hope they arrived in time. Spinning, he hurried back into the medical tent and to Peter's side. _

_The High King was still unmoving, his chest rising and falling with increasing difficulty. "Peter, hold on 'til Lu gets here. She'll have you right as rain in no time. I love you, Peter. I hope you know that." He wiped a trickle of blood from his brother's chin and then turned on his heel and nearly ran from the tent, casting orders as he went. _

_Now it was time to do battle and he would do it with his brother's hope for peace on his mind, not with vengeance, for that wasn't the Just way of doing things._

"Lucy arrived just in time with the cordial, or so I've been told," Peter said, absentmindedly rubbing the area of his old wound. The scar was still there, an innocuous looking circle of discolored flesh, all that was left of the wound that very nearly took his life in Ettinsmoor.

Caspian was silent. His hands were clenched so tightly on the reins, it looked like he was going to break through them. "What cretins," he muttered. "I know there are those who are ruthless in this world, my uncle counted among them, but that is going too far. The Telmarines at least adhere to a code of honor in battle. Those giants were truly barbarians."

Peter sighed. "Some of them were, yes, but there were some giants who were far better than those we fought in Ettinsmoor. I wonder if perhaps there are some at the How. If they are living still, I doubt they would pass up a chance to rid Narnia of a blood-thirsty and power-hungry usurper."

The two lapsed into silence – Caspian imagining the horror Peter must have gone through and Peter remembering how his siblings had latched onto him like they planned to never let go when he had woken up in the medical tent after the battle.

_The first thing he was aware of was the smell of flowers. His first thought was that maybe he was in Aslan's country. There would surely be many flowers there. Then, there was pain. That threw him. He wouldn't feel pain in Aslan's country and Lucy's cordial should have taken care of any injuries, so why did his left arm hurt so much?_

_Wrenching his eyes open, Peter saw Susan seated in a chair beside what was obviously a bed in the medical tent. A bed that he was lying in. As usual. He saw Lucy curled up in her sister's lap, much like she had done when she was younger. _

_Turning to his left, he saw the reason for his pain. Edmund had fallen asleep with his head resting on Peter's arm and part of the younger King's shoulder armor was digging into the fleshy part of Peter's forearm._

_With a grimace, he pulled on his arm, jostling Edmund from his slumber. "What..." the dark-haired boy muttered, wiping sleep from his eyes. Those same dark eyes took in the arm that was being rubbed slowly and followed the arms up to see Peter's blue eyes open and glaring at him. "Peter!"_

_Edmund's cry woke Lucy and Susan, the former toppling from her sister's lap onto the floor with a muffled "ouch" that quickly turned into a shriek of joy. "Oh, Peter, we were so worried when you didn't wake up. I thought I'd gotten here too late!"_

_The Valiant Queen flung herself onto her oldest brother and hugged him firmly. He wrapped a weary arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. "I'm all right, Lu. You got here in time. Shush, please don't cry!"_

_Lucy wiped a few stray tears from her eyes and managed a small smile. Susan leaned over and kissed Peter's forehead like a mother would a son. "You, Peter, need to stop this. It pains us greatly to sit beside your sickbed and hope you are well."_

_Peter blushed. "I'm sorry, Susan. I didn't mean to get hurt, really, I didn't. It just happens, you know. But I'll try to avoid such things in the future." He turned his head toward Edmund who had been silent the whole time._

_He was surprised when his brother levered him up into a sitting position, drawing a grunt of protest from the recovering High King. That done, Edmund proceeded to lightly smack his brother upside the head. "That's for scaring the life out of me, Peter," he said, eyes strangely glassy._

_When Peter looked at him funny, he sighed. "I couldn't very well hit you when you were lying down. It wouldn't be proper." Then he pulled the older King to him in a strong hug. "I thought I was going to lose you, Peter. You didn't see what I saw when I pulled you off of Oreius and when they got the armor and mail off. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen. I know what you felt like at Beruna now, I think."_

_Peter clung to his brother and spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, Ed. I should have listened to you this time around." He pulled back a little and brushed Ed's fringe from his eyes. "And, Edmund? I do know you love me."_

_Ed's eyes widened. "You heard?"_

_Peter nodded. "I did hear. Did you ever doubt it?"_

_His brother shook his head. "No, but I didn't know if it was the last time I'd be able to say it to you."_

_Lucy jumped in here. "Well, enough of this melancholy, gentlemen. I think it's time to get a little food into you, Peter. And you too Ed, you haven't eaten since you got back from the battle."_

_Peter looked up abruptly at that. "Hey, wait, what about the giants? Did we win?"_

_As one, his siblings looked at him and chorused, "Oh, do shut up, Peter!"_

_Before Peter could respond, Edmund continued, a bit of pride in his voice. "Of course we did. I had it sorted!"_

_Peter smiled at his brother before ruffling his hair as Lucy called out and asked for food to be brought to them._

_The four Pevensies enjoyed a small meal, glad to be together, and alive._

_A/N: Two words … please review?? Also, please note the Pevensies are only a few years into their reign in my Ettinsmoor flashback._


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Just want to clear up a little bit of confusion that seems to have risen from the last chapter. Because neither the books nor the movies really specify exactly when in their Narnian lives that Peter and his siblings do certain events after taking the thrones, I've played a little bit with their ages. For the purposes of this story, Peter is 16, Susan is 15, Edmund is 11, and Lucy is 9. In the flashback in the last chapter, I am assuming that their campaign against the giants occurred when they were still relatively young. I made Peter 18, which would have made Edmund 13. As a result, they haven't led that many campaigns yet, and aren't fully experienced in battle tactics. So, yes, they were caught by surprise, which was why Peter was injured. As for having a back-up plan…short of bringing the entire army with them to treat with the giants, there isn't really a "good" back-up plan. And when going to a treaty meeting, generally you don't bring your whole army with you, gesture of good faith and all that._

_In response to a second review…although the movie doesn't go into this in great deal, the book does. Caspian was first taught about Old Narnia by his Nurse, but when his uncle was told what kind of stories she was telling him, she was sent away and Doctor Cornelius came to take her place, and he and Caspian had many conversations. Although the Telmarines don't know much about Old Narnia, Caspian does know what survived because of his Nurse and the Doctor, but he doesn't really know specifics, which is why he's asking Peter about them._

_Many thanks to my beta for so willingly diving into her copy of Prince Caspian, seeing as I don't own and have never read the book...I'll have to go out and get that, won't I?_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been slightly revised...one scene has been extended._

**Part Nine:**

_At the How, deep in the chambers…_

"It's Rhindon," Edmund exclaimed in surprise, reaching in and pulling the sword and scabbard from the chest. "Well, Peter is going to be disappointed at Cair Paravel, isn't he?" He smiled at his sisters' chuckles. "He does love this sword."

His sisters nodded emphatically, remembering all the times that the sword, wielded by Peter, had saved their lives, while Edmund unsheathed the blade and held it up, inspecting the blade's condition by the light of the torches. Lucy reached forward and gently traced the inscription that was engraved into the flat of the blade. "When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets its death and when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again," she whispered softly. She sighed now. "I wish he were here. I miss him. And he could help us."

Edmund sheathed the sword and decided to hold onto it, for the time being, so he hooked the scabbard to his belt. "I know you do, Lu. But he'll come when it's time, and somehow I doubt it'll happen a moment before!"

"Come on," Susan said. "We'd best be getting back. I expect that if nothing went wrong, Peter and Caspian should be back today. And if I know our brother, he'll be wanting his sword back as soon as possible."

Edmund nodded. "I know I would dearly love mine."

Lucy patted him on the back. "Oh, Edmund, I'm sure Peter will get them for you, don't worry. And I'm sure they're fine. No matter what tangles Peter gets into, he always seems to get out again. Even when we thought he was dead."

The three were silent for a moment before shaking themselves. "Such faith, Lu. But you're right. We have to trust Peter. He knows what he's doing, though sometimes I don't believe it and want to knock him upside the head," Edmund said with a laugh, drawing chuckles from his sisters.

Together, the three went to join Glenstorm to prepare for the High King's and the Prince's return.

* * *

"We should see the How from just beyond those trees," Caspian said, gesturing toward the obvious edge of the forest they had been traveling through for days. "I shall greatly appreciate some time on the ground. I fear I'll never be able to walk quite right after so long in the saddle."

Peter laughed outright at that, and then sobered as they broke through the trees and he cast his gaze upon the How for the first time. It was truly an earthworks in every sense of the word. It looked like a large mound, but he could imagine an intricate tunnel system underneath and large, open caverns and chambers.

"I could do with a good meal," Peter said suddenly, as they drew closer to the entrance of the Narnian stronghold. He strained his eyes, noticing a Faun stationed as sentry on a ledge overtop the entrance sending word inside. A few seconds later, there was a small figure at the archway, hair loose and dress flapping behind her as she ran forward.

"_**Peter**_!"

Seeing his youngest sister running toward him, Peter smiled and jumped down from the horse, glad to finally be free of any lingering pain. There was not even a tremble in his legs. He bent and caught Lucy up in a huge hug.

"How are things here, Lu? Preparations going well? Ed's not giving you any trouble?"

His sister laughed. "No, Peter. Edmund's been working hard getting everyone ready and equipped for battle. Susan's been working with the archers, and I've, well, I've been working on morale, like always!"

She smiled broadly and turned to Caspian. "How are you, Prince Caspian? Did you have any trouble along the way?"

The young Telmarine couldn't help but return the young Queen's smile. "We had a spot of trouble along the way, Your Majesty, but nothing too difficult." He turned to Peter. "If you don't mind, King Peter, I should like to wash up a bit. If you need me, Glenstorm knows where I stay."

With a small bow, the young man left Peter and Lucy to their greetings. The latter turned to her brother with her hands on her hips. "Did it work, Peter?" she asked firmly. Peter nodded and pulled the small, diamond bottle from his belt, then tugged free the dagger and handed them both to her.

"It did, Lu, but there's something I wanted to ask you about it." As they walked back to the How, Lucy listened to Peter's explanation of what he had felt when he took the cordial. She frowned and looked up into her brother's face.

"It never did that before, Peter. Do you think it's because you weren't hurt in Narnia?" she asked, brushing her hair out of her face as a small gust of wind swirled around the entrance to the How.

The blond Pevensie shook his head. "I don't know. I thought perhaps it was because of that. Or maybe that's how it heals nerve damage or something. I mean, the only other wound I needed it for was the one in Ettinsmoor and that wasn't anything like this one, so I have no frame of reference."

Their conversation was ended when Edmund and Susan hurried over and greeted their brother. Susan, of course, demanded that he tell everything that had happened, and Edmund, upon hearing of his brother's painful experience with the cordial, demanded to check him over to make sure nothing looked off.

"_All right_!" Peter finally called, overwhelmed by his siblings' attentions. "Look, I'm really tired from all the riding and I really, really, want to get this armor _off_. Ed, Caspian has your swords and gear. Su, here are your things and I already gave you yours, Lu."

He handed the bow and quiver to Susan, along with her leather armor. Just then he spotted the sword that Edmund was pulling from his belt. "Rhindon!" he exclaimed, automatically reaching for the sword his brother held. "Where did you find it? I thought it was lost when it wasn't at the Cair!"

Peter wasted no time in unsheathing the blade and holding it up before them. Edmund, Susan and Lucy watched their brother change from Peter Pevensie to High King Peter the Magnificent right before their eyes. There was something about Peter and that sword that screamed, "_Listen to me and follow me, and I will bring you to victory and peace_."

The moment ended when Lucy piped up again, breaking the silence that had fallen over the four siblings. "What was the Cair like, Peter? Was it as magnificent as when we left it? Did you see our chambers? And the throne room, with the glass roof?"

Peter frowned deeply. "Actually," he said, lowering Rhindon but not sheathing the great sword, "the Cair was attacked after we left Narnia and it has been destroyed."

There were gasps from Lucy, Susan and Edmund.

"Destroyed?" Edmund whispered. "How badly destroyed? Like, completely obliterated? Or just badly damaged?"

Biting his lip, Peter replied, "Completely destroyed, Ed. There was little left standing. It was …painful …to see it like that. I'm glad you guys didn't have to, as well. You can remember it the way it always was, and not remember it in ruins."

Lucy reached forward and patted Peter on the shoulder. "It was just a castle, Peter," she said shakily. "It can be rebuilt some day. Once we help restore peace in Narnia. It'll be all right."

Her brother smiled lightly at her and might have spoken, if Glenstorm and Caspian hadn't chosen that moment to enter the chamber and make their way over to Peter.

The latter was still gripping the unsheathed sword and Caspian's eyebrows rose as he took in the sight of the magnificent weapon. "Is that the sword you could not find at Cair Paravel?" he asked the High King.

Peter turned to Caspian and nodded. "It is," he said. Thinking for a moment, he made up his mind and extended the sword, hilt first, towards Caspian. "Would you like to see?"

The Telmarine prince hesitated, but did reach forward. As soon as his fingers touched the sword, he jerked away and held his hand close to his chest. Peter frowned and pulled the sword back toward himself. "What? Is there something sharp on the hilt?" he asked, studying the hilt of his sword with interest.

"I don't know, but it felt as hot as a live coal," Caspian said, still clutching his fingers. "It does not do that for you?"

Peter shook his head, distractedly. "No, it doesn't. Ed, did it do that for you?"

His brother shook his head. "No, and Susan and Lucy both touched it too."

Caspian frowned. "I wonder what this means?" He looked back at Peter. "Did you tell them about the prophecy we found in the cavern?" Peter looked back at Caspian and pursed his lips. "You're thinking this has something to do with that, aren't you?" Caspian added.

At Peter's nod, he turned to the other three Pevensies and Glenstorm and told them what he and the High King had discovered just outside Cair Paravel. They listened, intrigued, as he recited the inscription from the cave.

"Wow," Lucy said when Caspian had finished. "So it looks like the four of us – " she gestured at herself and her siblings – "will need to give you something. Do you think it's the things we got from Father Christmas?"

Edmund frowned at that. "It can't be, Lu. I didn't get anything from him."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Caspian shook his head. "Well, we haven't time to worry about this prophecy. We came to fetch you because plans need to be made about the Telmarine army and what we plan to do about it."

Glenstorm stepped up. "We have set up a war council, of sorts, consisting of those with the most battle and strategy experience. It's not much, but it will have to do." The centaur led the way to the chamber that held the Stone Table and Peter froze in the doorway, not having realized the How housed the Table.

"Oh my," he whispered, letting out the breath he'd sucked in when he saw the cracked stone. "That's…wow." His gaze flickered to Edmund, who was eying the Table with a look of pained remembrance. Swallowing, he moved into the room and resolved to put aside his worries for Ed and address them later.

The occupants of the room all turned, nearly as one, to the entering royals and most of their gazes settled on Peter, many of them seeing him for the first time up close. "High King Peter," said a dwarf from the right side of the room. "My name is Trumpkin and it is a great honor to finally meet you." He bowed to the returned sovereign and Peter nodded to him.

"I suppose we should go over what we know of the Telmarine army and their positions," Peter said to start the council. He turned as the dwarf began to speak again, outlining where the Telmarine supply lines and encampments were.

With a finger, the dwarf jabbed at the map on the table. "Until this bridge at the Ford of Beruna is complete, they can't move the bulk of their army to this side of the river. So we should be relatively safe here at the How for a time."

Peter nodded, absorbing the information, once again in his element. "It would be my suggestion that we hit these –" he gestured to the map "supply lines and cut off the eastern encampment entirely. They'll be forced to either forage or to return to the main encampment. Either way, they'll be vulnerable on the move."

He turned his gaze to Glenstorm, who nodded in agreement. "It is a fine suggestion, my liege. Might I also suggest that we somehow sabotage the weapons foundries? It would hinder them greatly."

The High King smiled. "Great idea, Glenstorm. Amongst the dwarves, do we have any well-versed in foundries that could make suggestions on how best to do so?" He turned to Trumpkin as he voiced the question.

The dwarf nodded and agreed to assemble a group of skilled foundry dwarves for the task.

Peter turned to Susan and Edmund. "You say you traversed all of these caverns," he said. "Do you think any place in particular needs fortification?" Edmund stepped forward and pointed out a few places on the map that needed strengthening. He also gestured to the doorway.

"This will not hold up against catapults," he said. "I can't see a way to bolster it, so we should keep that in mind if the battle does come to the How. We'll need alternate exits for certain." He pointed to a diagram of the How's structural supports. "I also think we could have a surprise attack in store for the Telmarines if we were to knock out some of these and collapse the ground from under them. We'd have to time it perfectly, but it could be done."

He waited for Peter to comment. The latter was quietly studying the map, leaning on the table much like he had before the Battle of Beruna. "I like that idea," he said to his brother. "I think we can make it even more of a surprise if we were to create passages onto the field beyond the collapse."

The High King turned to Caspian. "Is it Telmarine custom to send in the cavalry before the infantry?" Upon the young prince's nod, Peter continued. "Then it would be the cavalry that would fall into the collapsed field. And Susan's archers could fire a few volleys before we send our own riders up behind them when they are floundering."

He fingered two spots beyond the old ruins outside the How. "Here would work." Glenstorm leaned closer and agreed. "Well, I think that's it then," Peter said. "There are already people in charge of shoring up our food stores. What about our weapons?"

Edmund couldn't help the small wince when Peter mentioned that. He backed away a few steps when Glenstorm explained how Edmund and a small contingent of soldiers had snuck into the enemy camp and stolen a large wagonload of weapons.

Peter turned slowly and saw his brother's wary expression. He thought about saying something along the lines of "What were you thinking?" but decided against showing any sort of discord amongst the Kings of old. And besides, it had been a good plan.

"All right then," he said instead, turning back around. "I guess that took care of that."

He heard Ed let out a shaky breath and felt him move a step closer.

Turning to Susan and Lucy, he said. "Anything to add, you two?"

Susan made a few suggestions on the positioning of archers and on whom she thought could aid the attack groups that would hit the supply lines. Lucy frowned, then asked Glenstorm, "Do we have any gryphons here?"

Upon the centaur's nod, she turned to Peter. "Couldn't we do something like you did at Beruna, Peter? Have them fly something in? Perhaps the Telmarines don't know anything about them and it would be a surprise?"

Caspian chimed in here. "I do not think the Telmarines would expect such an attack," he said. "Most Narnian history has been lost to them. Miraz might have had Doctor Cornelius tell him some things, but most likely he will have simply imprisoned him." There was anger behind the word "imprisoned", which made Peter suspect Caspian was quite fond of his old tutor.

Peter turned his attention to Lucy. "That's a good idea, Lu," he said. "Do you think that you could handle organizing that while we take care of the rest of the preparations?"

Lucy nodded firmly. "It wouldn't take much, just some simple coordination and finding a good supply of rocks."

Peter thought for a moment before nodding. "That sounds like it would work well. All right, I think we're done here." Turning to Ed, he put an imploring look on his face. "Now could you _please_ get me out of this armor before I fall over?"

His brother laughed and nodded, leading the eldest Pevensie away from the war council and into a secluded alcove to help him shed the layers of mail and metal.

* * *

_Along the river three days later…_

"Can you believe those creatures have managed to cut off supplies to our easternmost encampment?" One armor-clad soldier bellowed. "I thought they were just stupid animals. Can't be that smart, can they?"

His companion, a head shorter and what looked like a head wider, cast another log onto the fire. "Maybe they got lucky. Blundered onto it."

Shaking his head, the first disagreed. "No way, not since I heard there have been other attacks and even a whole wagonload of weapons stolen. No, someone is leading them. I have my money on that traitor Prince Caspian."

The shorter man snorted. "Caspian wouldn't do that. His father was a good King and he is a good lad. No, I think it's one of them centers, or whatever they're called."

"Centaurs, you nitwit. Them I've heard of, some sort of horse man. Overheard that tutor of the prince one day. Thought it was all nonsense at the time, of course." He set a pot over the small fire and sat beside it to wait.

Trumpkin, hidden in the brush beyond the camp, held up a hand to halt the attack he and his group were about to undertake. This conversation was beginning to get interesting and he wanted to see where it would go.

"Well, we won't have to worry about that much longer," the first man continued. "Since these attacks started, Lord Miraz has stepped up work on the bridge. Expect it'll be done in two days. Then we'll attack and wipe out those ghastly beasts once and for all. I won't have no Narnian wolf eat my kids right out of their beds one night."

The short man nodded. "Should be simple too, now that we know where they're hiding. Ever since them sentries spotted those two horses riding toward that earth fortress of theirs. This time next week, we'll be home sitting around the dinner table, not out in these forsaken woods."

He glared at the trees around them and at the slop in the pot.

Trumpkin had heard enough. Signaling his troop, he edged away from the camp. He had to get back and relay the news. It looked like their hopes of reducing the number of troops in the area had just run out of time.

* * *

"Two days, you say," Peter said, pacing in front of the Stone Table. "Are you certain? Not two weeks or something?"

Trumpkin frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. "I know what I heard, sire. And it was two days. Not two hours, not two weeks, two days. What are we going to do about it, is what I want to know?"

Peter turned to Glenstorm, "Is there no way to sabotage this bridge?"

The centaur shook his head. "None we could find, my liege. It is too strongly fortified and guarded round the clock. It would be impossible to do anything to slow production."

Edmund slowly moved to intercept his brother before he was able to pace a furrow in the floor. "We might have to consider more drastic action," he said as Peter nearly bowled into him. "I know you had hoped to avoid it, but under the circumstances…"

The High King sighed wearily. "I did. But it looks like we have to consider a raid on the castle," he said. His words were met with mixed response. Caspian decidedly against, Reepicheep decidedly for, and Glenstorm undecided. Peter held up a hand. "Please, before we burst into arguments, let me explain why I said that."

Leaning on the table once more, Peter detailed how the troop strength was still far greater than their own and how they already knew where the How was and fortification and preparations for the surprise tactics they had come up with were incomplete.

"If we captured Miraz, I think he is enough of a greedy, self-serving tyrant to do just about anything to save his own skin." He turned to Caspian. "If we were to capture him, would that make you the rightful next ruler?"

Caspian nodded slowly. "It would, but I have been labeled a Narnian sympathizer, King Peter. And what the Telmarines don't know and understand, they fear. I do not think they would rally behind me, more like they would follow one of Miraz's generals."

Peter sighed. "That might be the case, but I haven't any other ideas. Taking Miraz and cutting off the head of the army, so to speak, should cripple the command lines enough to at the very least buy us some time, but perhaps weaken them enough to abandon this campaign."

He noticed Caspian shaking his head again. "I do not think so," the prince stubbornly countered. "But, perhaps you could control Miraz through his wife and son. His son is his path to the throne. Without him, he has nothing."

Peter's eyes widened and Edmund's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Lucy and Susan gasped. "Caspian!"

The prince's eyes never left Peter's. For a moment, the High King thought it must be some kind of joke. But when Caspian didn't break into a smile, he frowned. "No, we will not use a woman and a child's lives to barter with Miraz. I'm surprised you would even suggest such a thing."

He turned away from the prince and started to continue, but Caspian jumped in before he could speak. "He is my uncle, and I know how his mind works. If you want to get to him, that's what you need to do."

Peter clenched his hands so tight that he swore he could feel blood seeping from where his nails were biting into his palms. Turning slowly, he took two steps until he was directly in front of the slightly taller Caspian.

"No, Caspian. I would never condone a course of action that would endanger the life of a child like that. What you are saying is beyond any realm of honor I've ever heard of, and didn't you say Telmarines fought with honor? What happened to that?"

He turned away from the prince and the planning went on and in circles until finally, Lucy frowned. "We aren't even considering that we have another choice here," she fairly shouted. "We could seek out Aslan. He's the one who turned the tide at Beruna, he could do it again."

She saw her brother stiffen a little, but didn't let it bother her right now. She knew she was right. Peter looked up at her, a small bit of sorrow in his expression as he said, "We can't wait for Aslan, Lu. We only have two days. We just have to do this on our own."

The planning went on into the early hours of the next morning, but by the time the council broke up, a battle strategy had been outlined that gave them a good chance at entering the castle, capturing Miraz, and overwhelming the castle guard before they could raise an alarm or prepare a counterattack.

Lucy sighed dejectedly as she sat alone in the Stone Table chamber, gazing at the visage of Aslan carved in stone. "I still don't think we can do this alone," she whispered. "We need you, Aslan. We need you."

_A/N: No new news on Eve, but thank you for keeping her in your thoughts. On to the raid next chapter and perhaps something you readers would NEVER expect…_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: No updates on my daughter. Perhaps next chapter…and hopefully good. This is a long one, perhaps you ought to get a drink, a bite to eat, etc., before you start!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been slightly revised._

Part Ten:

Lucy hovered just outside the chamber where the war council had been discussing final preparations for the raid later that night. She bounced from foot to foot as the various commanders filed out, itching to speak to her eldest brother.

The boy in question came out of the room next, running a hand through his disheveled blonde hair. "Peter!" the young Queen called out. "Can I talk to you?" She saw Edmund coming out behind the High King and added, "Alone?"

Edmund, after glancing once at Peter, who nodded in agreement, turned down the corridor and headed away from Peter and Lucy. "What did you want to talk about, Lucy? Did you need help with the gryphon attack or something?"

He started walking off toward his makeshift pallet in a secluded corner of the main chamber. Lucy hurried behind him and before he could reach his spot, she turned him down the tunnel leading to the Stone Table.

"_Lu_!" he protested, pulling away from her grasp but continuing in the direction she had steered him. "What's this all about? Why are you practically manhandling me?"

She snorted. "This isn't manhandling Peter," she said with a laugh. "This is called dragging my older brother off to try and talk some sense into him. Again." She pushed him lightly so that he was standing in front of the Stone Table, looking toward the relief of Aslan carved into the wall beyond.

Lucy could feel her brother stiffen again. "Lucy, we already decided we can't wait for Aslan. If the Telmarines attack us here, we aren't going to be able to hold them off or defeat them. The numbers just don't work out."

She stepped in front of him. "Peter, why don't you believe Aslan can help us? I really think we just have to go out and look for him and he could turn the tide in our favor! Why are you so bent on doing this all yourself for some reason?"

Her brother stepped around her and ran his fingers along the edge of the Stone Table. "I think we have to do this on _our_ own, not _my_ own, because you are the only one who thinks they saw Aslan. We can't place all these peoples' lives on what you thought you saw, Lu."

The youngest Queen bristled at that. "I know what I saw Peter Pevensie, and I saw Aslan. I don't _think _I saw him, I _saw _him." Hurt that he had all but said she had imagined seeing the great Lion, Lucy continued without really thinking. "Make no mistake, if you do this, the failure will be on your head, Peter."

Still fuming, and afraid she would say even worse things if she stayed, Lucy stalked off down the corridor in which she had found the painting of Tumnus and Aslan, leaving Peter gaping in her wake.

He could feel himself trembling at her words. He was already insecure with the idea that the raid was a huge risk, but he and the others couldn't come up with anything better in the time they had. Was he really risking their lives for a plan doomed to fail?

Peter slumped onto the old steps leading up to the cracked table. He shifted until he was looking at the Lion's visage on the wall. "Why can't you just give me a sign?" he asked, anger lacing his words. "I don't want to do this alone, Aslan. I would love to have your help. But I can't just sit here and wait for you if I don't have some sort of sign that you are coming."

There was nothing forthcoming. No stirring in the stillness of the cavern, no whispering in his ears or hope flaming in his heart. The only thing he felt was trepidation that his sister might be right.

Standing, he swallowed his worries and cemented one thought in his head. "We'll capture Miraz and force this campaign to an end, if it's the last thing I do," he said with quiet resolve.

The slight figure of his sister, hidden in shadow, swallowed back tears and watched Peter stride with purpose out of the room. She half wanted to call him back and apologize for her words. But the hurt was still too near and she let him go. She would talk to him when he returned. Because he would. He always did. It was just a matter of how many of the others would return with him.

* * *

Susan strapped the bracer on her forearm and adjusted it to the correct position. Behind her, Lucy was fiddling with her bottle of cordial and was frowning one of the deepest frowns the elder sister had ever seen on her sister's young face.

"Lu, whatever is wrong? You aren't yourself," Susan said, releasing the bracer once it was settled and turning to Lucy. "Please, don't be like this, Lucy. We are going into a very risky battle, you don't want to leave things unsaid."

Lucy looked up at her dark-haired sister and her eyes softened. "You're right," she said. "I don't want to leave things unsaid. I have to find Peter." She leaned forward and grabbed her sister into a big hug. "Be careful, Su. Take care of those wayward brothers of ours as best you can, too."

Susan smiled. "As always, Lucy."

The youngest Pevensie turned on her heel and flew from the chamber toward the entrance of the How where her brothers were assembling the warriors that would participate in the night raid of the Telmarine castle.

It had been decided to leave as many behind as was feasible, in case things went poorly. They didn't want to leave the How emptied of combatants if it were to be attacked. Just beyond the entrance, she spied Peter. His dark-red leather tunic and black pants set him apart from the various other warriors wearing heavier chainmail and bits of metal armor.

She hurried up to him and he turned toward her, his lips forming a tight line, but not a smile nor a frown, just a neutral expression. "Lucy," he said by way of greeting, inclining his head toward her.

With a small gulp, she hesitated now that she was facing her brother. Frustration at his lack of faith in her still simmering under the surface, instead of saying what she had intended to, she blurted out, "I do wish you'd reconsider, Peter."

Her brother's lips now did form a frown and he backed up a step. "I don't have time for this, Lucy. What is decided is decided and there will be no reconsideration. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure Glenstorm is set to go."

Peter turned around to leave, intending to hurry away and hide the disappointment in his face, but Lucy's voice halted him mid stride. "I, I, I," she hissed. "If it wasn't for me finding the wardrobe, and believing in Narnia, _you _wouldn't be here, nor would you be High King. Remember that, brother mine."

She turned and hurried away, leaving Peter gaping yet again. Why was she being so cruel? Why was she forcing him to doubt himself on the verge of battle? Did she care so little for him? He cast the thought aside. Of course she cared for him, she was just strong in her convictions and a little too dependant on Aslan, he thought to himself as he sighed and checked up on the centaur general.

Edmund, who had overheard his youngest sister's outburst, frowned at the back of Peter's head. He could tell how the young Queen's words were proving a distraction to Peter and he knew he had to try and curtail it now.

"Peter, can I talk to you for a moment?" he said.

Peter almost rolled his eyes. "You're not going to try to tell me to reconsider and wait for Aslan too, are you? Because I just don't think I can handle anymore lack of faith in my ability to lead, Ed."

The dark-haired King grabbed Peter's shoulder and hauled him off to the side, away from prying ears. "She was angry, Peter, she didn't mean what she said," he told his brother. "I'm sure she knows you're doing all that you can here. Lucy has always been so full of faith that Aslan can save us all from everything. You have to cut her some slack, she's a child again, Peter."

The blonde Pevensie looked up at his brother, seemingly seeing him for the first time. "If you want to go in that vein, Ed, so are you. You're only 13. I'm only 16. We're all children. Am I really making the right choice, here?"

Ed looked Peter in the eyes and firmly stated, "You are making the only choice available to you, Peter. I want to believe Lucy, I really do, but I understand that while she might have seen Aslan, he isn't here and we will have a superior army on our doorstep in a few short days at most."

Laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, he added, "You mustn't let this get to you, Peter. I'll not lose you in this battle because you're mired in distracting, depressing thoughts. Put it behind you and deal with it when we return. Hopefully victorious, of course."

Peter managed a small smile and patted Ed on the arm. "Thanks, Ed. I needed that. You're right, I can't let myself dwell on this. We have a battle to win."

The two brothers turned and took up their positions beside Susan and Caspian at the head of the invasion force. They would take to the skies closer to the castle, but for now would ride with the bulk of the troops.

Peter couldn't help but cast a glance backwards as they drew away from the How. He spied his youngest sister standing where the sentries normally stood guard, atop a ledge above the entrance of the How.

* * *

_Don't look up, don't look up_.

Edmund clenched his fist around one of his swords as the gryphon carrying him swooped closer and closer to the tower. The guard atop the tower was pacing back and forth, eyes trained on the ground outside the castle and thankfully not on the sky where Peter, Caspian, Edmund, Susan and Trumpkin were being carried by gryphons to various towers.

It fell on Edmund to remain on this particular tower, the highest of the castle, where he would use his flashlight to signal to the troops when the gates were opened and they should advance.

With one well-placed swing, he took out the solitary guard and the gryphon released his grip on the boy, letting him drop the three feet to the stone tower. Edmund hit the ground as lightly as he could and paused, listening to be sure there was no one coming, before he turned his gaze skyward and watched the other gryphons deposit his comrades into position.

It had begun.

* * *

Peter hit the ground and immediately unsheathed Rhindon, dispensing quick death to the two guards who rounded the corner he, Susan and Caspian had just been dropped off beside.

"Where are your professor's quarters, Caspian? We haven't much time." Susan pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it onto her bowstring, ready to fire off a shot at the first sign of trouble.

The Telmarine prince, dressed in black armor, was difficult to see in the dark of night, but they saw him nod and point to their right. "Just this way," he said quietly, taking off at a light run down the corridor.

He turned a corner into a dimly lit chamber, filled to capacity with all sorts of books and artifacts of forgotten or past times. In one corner stood a cylindrical globe of the world, in another a case full of old bits of Telmarine armor.

Open on the desk, however, was what interested Caspian and the two Pevensies.

"It's us," Susan said, reached down and fingering the colored page in the open book, which depicted the four Pevensies riding two horses – Susan with Edmund and Lucy with Peter. The eldest Pevensie felt a pang of remorse as he saw the joy on his and his sister's face in the painting, then remembered the pained expression she had given him before storming off not long ago.

Caspian's face was set in a firm scowl. "They must have taken him to the dungeons. Somehow, Miraz must have found out he was telling me of the Narnians. I have to go and get him."

Peter looked up at that. "No, you're needed at the gates, Caspian. We don't have time."

Susan glared at her brother and Caspian's gaze could have cowed a weaker man. "If it weren't for him, I would be dead. And even if by some chance I had survived, you would never have been called. I owe him this much, King Peter."

He turned on his heel and left the room, and Peter and Susan exchanged glances. Peter, who was angry that things were already deviating from the well-thought-out plan, released a harsh breath and turned away from the book.

"We should find Miraz," he said. "Someone has to stick to their task or this is going to fall down around our ears." He didn't wait for Susan's response, just turned and hurried out into the corridor, eyes peeled for Telmarine soldiers.

With an exasperated sigh, Susan rolled her eyes and hurried after her brother. From a brief conversation with Edmund, she knew that Peter and Lucy had been at odds when they left, so her younger brother had asked her to keep an eye on the High King.

She had promised to do so and hurried after him to keep her word.

"Peter, wait," she hissed as she caught up with him. "Don't go storming off alone! We need to stick together like we planned. Now, if I remember Caspian's directions right, Miraz's chamber is this way." She pointed toward a dimly lit corridor on their left. "Let's move."

Together, sister and brother crept through the corridors as fast as they dared.

* * *

He knew he should be getting to the gates now that his task to free Doctor Cornelius was completed, but his mind was focused on one thing, and one thing only – the truth. He needed to know, he needed to hear it from Miraz himself. With that goal at the forefront, he forgot all else that rode on him and hurried along the mostly unused and unknown passages between the dungeons and Miraz's chambers.

As he crept quickly along in the dark, his mind recalled all the times his uncle had lamented the loss of his brother. "The nerve," he muttered as he rounded a corner. His father had died when he was very young, but Caspian still remembered him and cherished what few memories he had.

He reached the end of the corridor and pushed open the intricate gate in front of him. It was much like the passage he had escaped down when his uncle tried to murder him. Miraz and his wife Prunaprismia were fast asleep in bed. Caspian, incensed even further by seeing this man peacefully asleep when he had so callously ended a man's life and tried to end another's, pulled his sword from its sheath.

As soon as it drew close to Miraz's throat, the older man's eyes shot open and his gaze fell on Caspian. The latter fairly growled out, "Get up."

While he had no qualms about seeking revenge against this murderer, he did have a problem doing so with Miraz unarmed. He wasn't about to simply kill him in bed. That would make him like the man and he couldn't allow that.

Instead, as Miraz stood, he ground out, "I want the truth. Did you kill him?"

He was momentarily distracted by Miraz's smirk. "Now we get to it," the man said, edging away from the bed. Caspian was so focused on his uncle, he failed to notice his aunt pull a crossbow from above the bed. When he saw her aim it at him, he didn't bother to flinch or pay it much heed.

Just as he was about to speak again, the door to the bedroom flung open and Peter and Susan fairly tumbled in, obviously having heard Caspian's voice coming from inside and perhaps thinking he'd been captured.

The prince's focus shifted to them for a moment. He could see the anger in King Peter's eyes. They were already on unsteady footing after his suggestion in the war council, and he could tell this would probably break their fledgling friendship entirely. But he had to know.

"Caspian, you're supposed to be at the gates," Peter spat, anger and a healthy dose of trepidation lining his voice. "What's the point of a plan if no one follows it?" He held Rhindon firmly before him and Susan trained her arrow on Prunaprismia.

For a moment, Caspian wavered, realizing just how much he had actually strayed from the plan both in rescuing the professor and now in the name of revenge. But he just couldn't let this go. All the anger and hurt and fear he had felt since the arrows struck his bed that night came to the forefront and he clenched his teeth.

"No!" He nearly shouted. "No. I want the truth and I want it now." He leaned forward, pushing the blade even closer to his uncle's tender throat. "Did you kill my father?" There, the question was out. And he didn't need a verbal answer either because the look in Miraz's eyes was answer enough.

Caspian felt a surge of anger jolt through him and he barely heard Queen Susan's voice telling him this wouldn't make it better, nor right. Peter's angry voice had little effect on him either.

"Stop this," he heard the High King call out. "Caspian, this isn't the way to go about it. I know you're angry. I was angry when I battled the same enemy that had killed my father, but this isn't going to make it better. It'll only haunt you later. Please, back away and let us get back to the plan."

"Damn the plan!" Caspian shouted, causing Peter and Susan to wince. "He killed my father! Killed him in his sleep. An unarmed man."

Susan inched closer, never lowering her bow. "Caspian. Put the sword down."

Her plea was echoed by Prunaprismia, who also hadn't lowered her weapon. "I don't want to do this, Caspian," she warned, but her finger was slowly squeezing the crossbow trigger anyway.

Miraz fired off the one thing that would sway his wife. "Do it, Prunaprismia. If not for me, for our son. Do you want him to be king and never want for anything? Or do you want him to be like Caspian here? Fatherless?"

The woman flinched and as she did so, the arrow released and struck Caspian in the upper arm. He cried out and dropped his sword, giving Miraz the opportunity to launch himself out onto the balcony and cry out an alarm.

Peter swore under his breath, so angry at Caspian now that he didn't stop to check if the young prince was all right before hauling him up to his feet. "Get to the gate and get it open," he called out. "Don't even think of responding with anything but 'yes' Caspian."

The tone of voice left no room for argument and Susan even backed away from her brother, such was his anger. It wasn't something she was often witness to, but when it did rear its ugly head, it was truly frightening. And with what Lucy had said at the How, it was a wonder he had lasted this long without breaking.

"Susan, go with him," Peter suddenly added. She made to shake her head, but the motion was abruptly cut off when the chamber suddenly flooded with soldiers. Peter shoved his sister out the door after Caspian, who had ripped the arrow from his shoulder and seemed to be in complete shock over what he had done.

"I…King Peter," he began, his voice holding a strong note of apology. "I'm…"

"Save it," Peter said fiercely, swinging Rhindon in a graceful arc that ended the life of the Telmarine who had attacked him. "If we hope to salvage this, we have to get the other Narnians in here and now. Move it."

Susan was about to argue that it was pointless, but they were quickly overwhelmed by more soldiers and she found herself and Caspian separated from Peter. Knowing he had given her an order, she found herself unwilling to ignore it and dragged Caspian away to the gate.

* * *

_King Peter_. He snorted as he swung another vicious blow with Rhindon, only to have to reverse the direction soon after and plunge the sword toward another incoming Telmarine. There seemed to be no end to the flow of men. _Some High King I am, I can't even keep a few people to a simple plan. Lucy was right, this was doomed to fail from the start._

He dodged a strike from his right and neatly sidestepped when a Telmarine arched his sword straight down at the top of Peter's head. He heard the clang as the follow-through sent the man's sword crashing into the ground where Peter had been.

Peter knew he had to get out of here. He had to help in the courtyard where he could hear the sounds of a fierce battle playing out. It was all his fault, after all, just like Lucy had told him it would be.

The young High King was so consumed by his self-loathing that he missed a stout Telmarine approaching from behind him, a heavy mace gripped in his hands. The man wound up for a mighty swing and let it loose toward the young King's exposed back, but just before he hit Peter, the young man moved and the blow lost much of its force.

Still, the impact was more than enough.

Peter let out a loud shout at the fiery pain as the mace slammed into him and tore into the tender flesh of his back. His legs suddenly lurched beneath him and his heart leapt into his throat as they began to tremble.

It was a familiar feeling and before he could stop himself, he was remembering the horror of lying in a hospital bed in the middle of enemy territory – staring at legs that should have been moving, but weren't.

The distraction his memories caused left him vulnerable to attack and a Telmarine took advantage of that moment, swinging his sword swiftly toward Peter's mid-section. There was a shout from down the corridor, which saved Peter from being cut totally in half, but didn't save him from a slice from left hip to right.

Bending forward, Peter pressed a shaking hand to his middle and drew it away. It was coated with sticky red blood and as he looked at it, everything else seemed to slow down. The noise of battle dulled to a murmur. The clash of swords and the frantic shouts of someone he knew, but at the moment didn't recognize, were barely whispers.

For a moment he could almost feel the rain as it had been that day in Greece, hitting him, drenching him and nearly drowning him as he clutched another wound in much the same place.

"King Peter!"

He was startled from his memories when a hand fell on his shoulder with nearly enough force to knock him to the ground. Frightened eyes met Peter's own tormented ones and above the roaring in his ears, Peter heard Caspian calling out, "King Peter! Peter, you must move!"

The High King gave no sign he had heard and Caspian, not knowing what else to do, smacked him just hard enough to knock his head a little to the side. "King Peter, come back to your senses before we are both killed! You are stronger than your memories. Remember how you told me there is strength in facing them? Now _show_ me!"

Peter's eyes shifted from unfocused to sharp, like bits of steel. "Caspian," he whispered, realizing he couldn't remember the other man arriving. Turning to his surroundings, he found they stood in the midst of a veritable sea of dead and dying Telmarines.

He flinched when, for a moment, the armor shifted to muddy German uniforms and the swords to rifles with bayonets. A blink later and the soldiers were once again clad and armed as Telmarines should be.

Caspian was still gripping his shoulder. "What's happening?" Peter asked, shaking himself further from his shock.

The prince frowned. "The campaign is lost, sire, and I will apologize for my behavior and faults later, but now we must retreat before it is too late. The gate will not stay open much longer."

Peter took an unsteady step forward and winced as pain flared in both his back and front. "Damn it," he muttered. Caspian steadied him as they hurried through the corridor and out into the courtyard.

Susan, nearby atop Glenstorm, let out a shaky sigh of relief at seeing Peter on his own two feet. The bloody mess of his leather tunic didn't escape her and she sucked in a pained breath when she saw his face scrunch in pain as he swung Rhindon awkwardly and took out an advancing soldier.

From atop a nearby walkway, Edmund too spied his ailing brother and a frown marred his face. "Oh Peter, why is it always you?" he muttered as he spied a man about to fire a crossbow at Susan and Glenstorm. "Oh no you don't," he said, vaulting onto the angled roof below him and sliding down into the man, knocking him from his perch to the ground below.

Peter looked up at the crash and saw Edmund. His eyes widened like saucers and he shouted frantically, "_**Ed**_!"

The call was just in time because if Edmund had lingered another moment, he'd have been sporting a dozen arrows protruding from his body. Instead, he launched himself through a nearby door and kicked it closed behind him, letting the wood take the brunt of the blows, though one did squeak through and tear into his forearm.

With a pained gasp, he clutched the wound, but also hurried to his feet and out the next door onto – a tower roof with no outlet. Slamming the door shut, he turned round and round, the sounds of fevered battle assaulting his ears. No way off this roof but the way he'd come.

The door burst open and Edmund moved back toward the edge of the tower. He looked behind him, just to see how far he'd be falling to his death, when he spotted his one hope. And smiled. Looking back at the soldiers, he toppled backward and landed with an ungraceful thud on the back of the gryphon Calmimus.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the courtyard…_

"Caspian, the gates!" Peter shouted, adrenaline the only reason he could even stand at this point. He gestured toward where Miraz was directing men to shoot at a minotaur valiantly holding up the falling metal gate.

The prince turned toward the exit and shouted to all nearby Narnians to retreat before it was too late. A horse and rider, followed by two riderless horses, suddenly drew up beside Caspian.

"My prince, quickly now," Doctor Cornelius said, casting a glance up at Miraz on his balcony above the battle. The old man also threw his gaze to the blonde boy fighting beside Caspian and sucked in a breath. It was the High King of Narnia himself, right here before him, and he couldn't even properly greet him, being in the midst of battle and all.

Caspian fairly flung himself up onto the saddle, calling out "King Peter, quickly," as he went. Peter turned toward him, running through yet another soldier as he did, and spied the extra horse.

Then he turned to the gate and watched as an arrow hit the minotaur in the forearm, lodging there. The minotaur roared and his grip on the gate wavered, but he still clung to it. Peter expanded his gaze to take in the large number of Narnians still trying to reach the gates and escape. And he made up his mind.

"Go," he shouted, taking the reins of the horse being offered to him, but not mounting. Instead, Peter ran alongside the horse, scooping up a shield as he went, and when he reached the gates, urged the horse through, but quickly tied it so it would wait just beyond out of the line of fire.

Then he turned back toward the courtyard, ignoring the sounds of Susan screaming for him to come now. He let out a loud call for the Narnians to retreat and then positioned himself in front of the minotaur, Rhindon in one hand, the shield in the other.

He deflected as many arrows away from the minotaur as he could and swung Rhindon with a strength he didn't think he ought to have, but strangely enough still did. As the Narnians in the courtyard streamed past him, he let out a pained smile.

This disaster was his fault anyway, so it was only fitting he be the last to leave.

He was weakening fast and he knew it, but he wasn't going to give up. He would stand here until the last standing Narnian had passed through that gate before he turned and retreated himself.

* * *

Caspian watched in shock as Peter stood before the wavering minotaur and began to deflect arrows and fend off attackers, allowing Narnians to escape through the gate. It was in that moment he understood the true meaning of strength. It wasn't just a physical strength, which it was obvious the High King must have, but more importantly it was the strength of his spirit.

He knew he had shown little strength of spirit both with his suggestion to use his uncle's son as leverage and with the desire to seek revenge on Miraz – which probably sealed the fate of this failed raid.

Watching Peter now, he realized _this _is what they meant when they called Peter "the Magnificent." And then and there he resolved that he would try to embody even a fraction of that strength of spirit from this moment on.

* * *

Peter felt his legs tremble even more fiercely than ever before and he knew this was the end of his endurance. Thankfully, it was also the moment the last Narnian ran through the gate.

"Go now," the minotaur grunted. "I'm finished, my King. But I thank you for helping my sacrifice save even more lives."

Tears of pain and sorrow filled Peter's eyes as he dragged himself atop the horse and watched the minotaur fall under the weight of the gate. He cast one last look at the Narnian dead and shed more tears for them as he turned the horse and jumped the widening gap between freedom and death.

As he rode, shaking and weakening, all he could think was _my fault_.

And as he reached the How later, drained, bleeding and nearly delirious with pain, he realized his legs were rather numb now, not really trembling anymore. With a frown, he readjusted his grip on the reins so he could dismount.

Sliding carefully, he managed to get his legs below him and slipped to the ground. To his immense surprise, he landed on his side with a cry before he even realized his legs had hit the ground. Pain flared through his body so strongly that it stole his breath for a moment. Edmund instantly appeared at his side, with Susan right behind him. Lucy lingered behind a bit, eyes wide and fearful.

Peter accepted his brother's help and Edmund pulled him up, only to have him crumple back down. For a moment, no one moved or spoke, giving the ailing King a moment to collect himself.

"Try that again," Peter whispered, an odd note of fear in his tone.

Edmund obliged and pulled Peter up, but the High King couldn't stay upright even for a moment and his legs buckled again. Edmund and Susan only just managed to catch him in time to prevent another nasty fall.

The High King's eyes drifted to meet Edmund's first, then lifted to meet Susan's and Caspian's. One last time they moved, this time to those of his youngest sister, who was still staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"Peter?" Lucy whispered. "What's wrong?"

Swallowing back the bile threatening to come up, Peter shakily replied, "I can't feel my legs…"

_A/N: Uh-oh…runs and hides_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Well, after that intense raid, I hope this meets your expectations. On my daughter, we were told today her case was one of the ones they watch and wait for it to go away. So HOPEFULLY this means we will not have to do anything at all to treat the extra fluid. Thanks for all the thoughts!!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised slightly._

**Part Eleven:**

Edmund had been standing beside Peter when the High King had revealed the extent of his injuries and in seconds, he had dropped to his knees and gripped the older boy by the shoulders.

"Peter? What do you mean? You can't feel them _at all_? They're not just numb?"

Lifting a shaking hand up to his brother's arm, Peter tugged gently until Edmund leaned forward, and then the blonde did something he rarely, if ever, did -- let his head rest against Edmund's shoulder.

"I can't feel them, Ed," he whispered. "Just like last time. Not a thing. I look at them and think I'm moving them, my mind tells me I should be moving them, but they aren't moving."

Susan, who had been close enough to hear them, gasped and her hands fluttered to her mouth. She couldn't hold in the quiet sob that escaped, though, and Lucy frowned, stepping forward.

"What's wrong?" she said, moving to stand just behind Edmund and reaching forward to lightly touch the eldest brother's shoulder. "Peter?"

Peter didn't respond, only leaned more heavily into Edmund. The latter shifted so he was still holding Peter but could also see Lucy. Before he could say anything, Caspian, who had been quiet until that moment, spoke up. "He looked distracted when I found him, and had just been hit from behind with a spiked mace."

"And now, he can't feel his legs, Lu," Edmund added softly. She gasped and backed away. Edmund could see the guilt shining in her eyes.

She shakily handed Susan her diamond cordial bottle and then turned on her heel and ran swiftly from the field and into the How. Susan called out to her, but Lucy kept running. This was her fault. Her words had been the distraction, she just knew it.

Edmund too knew why Lucy had run, but he had bigger things to worry about right now and had to hope that Trumpkin, who had trailed off after Lucy, would be able to comfort his sister for a time.

Turning his attention back to Peter, he looked down his brother's back at the rough gouges in the leather tunic, dark with blood. With a frown, he gently dislodged Peter from his shoulder and pushed him upright. "We need to get you inside, Peter," he said. "Light as you are, you're still too tall for me, gangly brother-mine. What do you say we let Caspian give me a hand?"

Peter nodded slowly, looking up at the Telmarine hovering close to Susan's elbow. Caspian's eyes were filled with compassion, and not a little guilt as well. "I can take him," the prince said, stepping forward now and stooping beside Peter and Edmund.

Reaching one arm under the High King's legs and one behind his shoulders, Caspian grunted as he lifted Peter up and started toward the entrance of the How. He was astonished at just how little the High King seemed to weigh. Just by looking at him, you couldn't really tell that he was so slender, because he was so muscular and in such good shape. But by the time he reached the young man's favorite sleeping area, Caspian was more than ready to put him down and lightly settled him on the small pallet.

Edmund and Susan were right behind him, and the remainder of the Narnian strike force was milling anxiously around the chamber, every so often casting glances their direction and mumbling amongst themselves.

Uncorking Lucy's cordial, Susan knelt down beside Peter and showed him her intent. He held up a hand and said quietly, "I should warn you, last time it didn't work like it used to. It…well, hurt. Quite a bit. I don't know if it will again."

Susan and Edmund exchanged confused glances. "Did you speak to Lucy about that?" his sister asked. At Peter's nod, she sighed. "Well there's nothing for it, we'll just have to see. It did, after all, heal everything last time."

"Or so we thought," Edmund grumbled, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder, which his brother was quick to grasp with his own bloody one. Susan gave her brother the single drop of cordial and he immediately clamped his eyes shut, gasping and nearly crushing Edmund's hand in his suddenly white-knuckled grip.

The Just King gritted his teeth and took a steadying breath. On the outside, he looked calm. On the inside, he was anything but. _I hate this. I hate that I can't ease your pain, Peter. I wish there was something more I could _do_ to help you through this. Like take away all the pain…_

He was broken from his thoughts when Peter suddenly slumped into stillness.

"Peter?" Looking down, he found his brother had either fallen asleep or lost consciousness. Shaking him gently, he realized it must be the latter because Peter wasn't responding.

Knowing Peter was out for the long haul, Edmund asked for a bit of privacy, which he and the High King were given, and he proceeded to strip away the bloody tunic and undershirt and dressed Peter in a comfortable, white linen, nightshirt.

He had some difficulty, seeing as his brother was dead weight, but soon the eldest Pevensie was clean, albeit unconscious. Edmund sat back on his heels and watched the gentle rise and fall of Peter's chest, reflecting on what this new development could mean.

Would Peter ever get feeling in his legs back? He had to believe he would, Edmund didn't want to even imagine his brother being crippled for life. He knew Peter would take it like the magnificent King he was, but Edmund would never forgive himself because this time he _had_ been at the battle and he still hadn't helped his brother avoid ghastly injury.

With a quiet sigh, he turned to Susan as she reentered the area. "I think one of us needs to go find Lucy," he said. "You and I both know she's got to be feeling something awful right now, after telling Peter a failed raid would be his fault, and then having him come back like this. She's going to need us, Su. They both are."

Susan drew herself up and moved closer to Peter's pallet. "I'd like to stay here, if I could. I'm not sure I'm ready to speak with her yet. I'm still shocked she would say those things to Peter and I'm not sure I could remain objective right now." With a smile that was just barely big enough to be classified as one, she added, "And you're the Just King, after all…I'm sure you can do what I can't."

Edmund smiled a little in response. "I'll do my best, Su. But I know why Lucy acted the way she did and while I don't agree it was the right way to go about it, she had her reasons. I'll go to her."

He disappeared in the direction of the Stone Table – it was where Lucy took solace.

* * *

Quiet sobs filled the chamber and in the flickering light, Trumpkin could just make out the small, Valiant Queen sitting with her knees pressed against the relief of Aslan beyond the Stone Table. She was leaning forward into the wall, her back to the door, head cushioned on her arms, breath hitching.

Face twisted up in a frown, Trumpkin firmed his resolve and tried to settle a compassionate expression on his face. He imagined he had utterly failed since he rarely sported anything but a scowl these days, but it was worth a shot.

"Dear little friend," he said quietly, startling her. He watched as she swiped at her eyes and sniffled. "Oh, don't hide your tears from me, Queen Lucy, I've already seen them. What I want to know is; why are they there in the first place?"

Lucy looked over at him through the hair that had fallen from her braids, tear tracks marring her cheeks. "Oh, it's all my fault," she gushed, suddenly flinging her arms around the dwarf and sobbing on his shoulder. "I told Peter it would be all his fault if the raid failed, and I got angry just before you all left and _reminded_ him that it was because of me he was even in Narnia and the High King. And then Caspian said he had been distracted when he got hurt, and I just know it was because of me, and it's all my fault, and…"

Trumpkin shoved her back, somewhat harshly, surprising her into silence. "Enough of that, Queen Lucy. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You didn't hit your brother with that mace. If it's anyone's fault, it's his own for letting himself get distracted in battle. He was king for many years and ought to know better."

Lucy was shaking her head vehemently. "No, no. It _was_ my fault. I was so horrible to him, and I know my brother, he would do anything for us and I know this hurt him terribly. I _knew_ he would be bothered by it, dwell on it, and I _still _did it because I was _hurt _and_ angry _that he didn't believe I'd seen Aslan. I was so _stupid_ and _childish_, Trumpkin."

He frowned. "Perhaps you were both of those things, but you couldn't have known your brother would be hurt so badly. You can't blame yourself for what has happened or you might find it's too late to apologize and make things right with your brother."

Twisting himself until he was seated beside Lucy, facing Aslan's image, he continued. "I had a brother, a twin actually. His name was Mankin and we were very close when we were younger."

Lucy was facing him now, listening intently.

"To make a long story short, we had a falling out. I felt we should get help from fellow Narnians, since we were being attacked almost nightly by wild wolves. Mankin wanted to go in, swords blazing, and deal with it ourselves. We were good enough, he thought.

"We argued. We yelled and we both said things we really didn't mean to say and we left for battle like that. Much like you and your brother. But unlike you and your brother, my brother didn't come back from that battle."

Lucy gasped and gripped her hands in her skirts until they turned white. "I…I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Trumpkin grunted, shifting until he was once again looking at Lucy. "I've made peace with myself, Queen Lucy. But I wasted many years wallowing in self pity. It wasn't until I went to Mankin's grave and told him I was sorry that I was able to put the past behind me and remember him without feeling all the pain and guilt rain down on me. You are lucky you don't have to talk to a stone, and you can get a response that I'll never have."

Standing, he reached out for her hand. "Don't you have a brother to apologize to?"

She smiled through her tears and took his hand. The two brushed themselves off and then noticed that Edmund was standing just beyond the Stone Table. He looked battle weary and was favoring his left arm. He was staring intently at Trumpkin, thanks in his expression.

"It looks like you've got it sorted, dear little friend Trumpkin," he said with a half-smile that almost, but didn't quite, reach his eyes. He looked to Lucy. "But Lucy's going to have to wait until Peter regains consciousness to talk to him."

He watched as Lucy's face crumpled in misery and he closed the distance between them quickly, letting her latch onto him and feeling her start to shake again. "Shhh, Lu, you know Peter will be all right."

Trumpkin edged away and out of the chamber, casting glances back at the siblings, and was content. He knew, somewhere, his brother would have been proud of him. And for once, he knew his brother's death had done some good.

Behind him, Lucy sniffled into Ed's shoulder and came away with blood on her cheek. "What, Ed? You didn't get this checked!" She tugged at the sleeve of his tunic, drawing a wince and jerk from her brother. "Let me?"

He nodded and sat beside her, allowing her to help him shrug out of his tunic enough to reveal the caked blood on his upper arm from the lucky arrow that had hit him before he could kick the tower door closed during the raid.

Edmund could tell Lucy was still uncomfortable around him. So he took it upon himself as the older brother to bring up the topic that needed discussing. "Lu?" She glanced at him, still working at the blood on his arm, cleaning it away with water from her water skin.

"Ed?" She said, not ready to give in with her brother. Trumpkin had been different. He wasn't over protective of Peter like Edmund was and she was afraid her brother would be terribly angry with her.

With a frustrated sigh borne of exhaustion, Edmund pushed Lucy's hands away. "Lucy Pevensie. I want to know what you said to Peter and why you said it. I can't help you both unless I know what happened. And Peter is going to need all three of us now, so we have to deal with this."

Lucy sat down hard. "Edmund, I know I was wrong. I know it. I was horrid. I was just so upset and angry that Peter blew me off and didn't believe that Aslan would be able to help us. Didn't even believe I'd seen him!" She told him everything that had happened between her and Peter.

Edmund frowned at her. "That doesn't give you license to say what you did, Lucy. You really hit below the belt a few times. And you know Peter, he takes everything so _personally_."

She nodded. "I know and that's why I'm so angry at myself, Ed. I know it's my fault he got hurt again. If he hadn't been thinking about what I'd said, he'd probably be just fine right now."

Now they got to it, why she'd run. "You can't know that, Lucy," he said. "I'm sure Trumpkin told you, Peter is a good warrior. He knows all about distraction. I know it's partly his own fault he was hurt, and I think when he's better he will know it too. But you are right, you _were_ the distraction."

She felt the tears coming again. "What do I do, Edmund?"

He softened his tone and his expression. "When he wakes up, just be there for him. He's probably going to be very disturbed, Lucy. He told me about the first time he woke in that hospital and realized he had no feeling in his legs and he said he was petrified. I imagine it will be much the same.

"You are going to need to put aside your needs and you're going to need to do what is best for Peter. Right now, that is not asking for forgiveness. Wait until he is more himself, don't bombard him right away. He's not dying, so you needn't worry you won't have time," he said, patting her on the arm. "I know you can do what you must, Lucy. Aslan didn't name you Valiant without reason."

She smacked his uninjured arm. "Thanks, Ed."

He frowned. "Don't thank me yet, Lu. You still have to get past Susan."

Lucy groaned. "Oh why didn't I think before I spoke? I'm never going to forget that again, ever."

Edmund patted her shoulder. "I think that would be wise, Lucy. Very wise. But come on, I want to check on Peter again. I'm worried about his mental state and how he's going to react when he wakes up. The cordial hurt him again, just so you know, and then he passed out."

She let out a shaky sigh. "I was afraid of that. I think it will still work, but I imagine what is wrong with Peter is far more complicated than a sword wound or something. It might be harder for the cordial to reach it."

Her brother nodded. "We'll just have to keep telling Peter that, if it hasn't worked when he wakes up. We can't let him wallow, you and I both know he will. Especially since the raid failed to capture Miraz and we lost quite a few good Narnians, including one of Glenstorm's sons."

They walked along the tunnel in silence, each lost in thought – Lucy still feeling very guilty, but a little lighter since her two pep talks, and Edmund overwhelmed with worry for Peter.

* * *

Susan put down the arrows she was fletching when there was a groan from the pallet holding the High King. Edging closer, she grabbed his wrist and lightly gripped it. "Peter? Can you hear me?"

He shifted restlessly on the bed, brows furrowed perhaps in pain, perhaps in confusion. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her hand around his wrist, then at her face. There was no recognition in his eyes.

"Where am I?" he said quietly. "How'd I get here? I thought I was going to drown."

Susan frowned. "Drown, Peter, it's not raining."

He actually glared at her. "Yes it was, I nearly drowned in it, I should know." He shifted again and his eyes widened. "Why can't I move my legs? What's…what? Where am I?"

The second oldest Pevensie's frown deepened. "Peter, you're in Aslan's How."

"How do you know of Aslan?" he whispered, fearful.

His sister swallowed. "Peter, who do you think I am?"

He looked at her askance. "A nurse? I'm in some sort of hospital, right? I remember a man, he helped me. Is he here? Can he help me?" he swallowed heavily, "Can he fix these?" He vaguely gestured to his lower half.

Pushing back her anxiety, she rose until she was standing over her brother. "Peter Pevensie, snap out of it! You are not in a hospital, you are not in Greece. You are in Aslan's How, and your legs are temporarily damaged because you were hit in the back with a mace during the night raid."

He frowned. "Night raid? Mace…" Peter's blue eyes widened then. Susan turned to see them focused on Glenstorm and Trufflehunter, speaking in low tones just behind her. She looked back to Peter, who was very still.

The blonde Pevensie shook his head. "I'm dreaming, that's it, I wished I was here and so I am seeing things." He jerked back when Susan suddenly smacked him. "What? Hey now!" But then his eyes seemed to clear a bit. "Su? Is that you? Am I really not in Greece?" He suddenly stopped talking, as if realizing that he _was_ talking, and without any effort or pain. That wasn't right. In Greece, he could barely open his eyes, let alone string together sentences.

His gaze lifted back to the woman beside him. It really was Susan. She was looking down at him in concern. "Peter?"

He tried to move, but found his legs were dead weight and he stared at the blanket over them, suddenly clarity returning to him and the memory of falling to the ground from atop his horse slamming into his mind. "I really can't move them. Su? Susan? Did I already, did you give…have I?" His words came out in a rush.

She shushed him. "Easy, Peter. Yes, you've already had it. Everything is going to be fine. You need to just lay back and relax right now, don't worry about anything. Let us take care of you for a change."

It was at that moment that Edmund and Lucy entered and saw the "deer in headlights" look on Peter's face. Edmund sucked in a breath. So he still couldn't feel his legs. "Hey Pete," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. "Some stunt you pulled, standing in front of the minotaur until every last fighter got out of the castle."

Peter's face scrunched up to protest, but he didn't. His gaze locked on Lucy. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself and turned away, focusing on the ceiling above them. "I had to do something, Ed," he said, responding to his brother's comment instead of addressing Lucy.

Edmund sat beside his brother, crossing his legs under him. "Yeah, I know. You always did have to take things into your own hands and deal with it all by yourself. But in this case, I'm glad you did or we would have lost many more Narnians."

He added with a small smack. "Just don't do it again."

Peter smiled a little before it faltered. "Oh, Ed, what good am I going to be now?" He looked to Susan. "I woke up and thought I was still in Greece. I thought Su was a nurse and … I'm just so lost."

He was about to say something else when a small figure burst into their group. "My Kings and Queens!" He said, panting. "We've gotten word, the Telmarines have nearly completed the bridge at Beruna. We need a plan. They could be here day after tomorrow!"

Peter looked up at Edmund with helplessness, though he tried to hide it. The Just King turned to Trufflehunter. "I'll be right there, as will my sisters," he turned to Peter. "_You_ will get some more rest. We're going to need you later on, but right now, leave things to us."

His brother must have had some lingering disorientation because he didn't protest, only nodded and turned his head toward the wall quietly. Edmund didn't want to leave his brother to wallow in his new paralysis, but Narnia needed them right now and as King, he had to do his duty.

Lucy and Susan followed him away, leaving Peter alone in his corner where he quickly drifted off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

_It was cold and the rain was beating down on him. All along the ground were dead and dying British soldiers, each one with pained and accusing eyes seemingly burning into Peter._

_Stumbling among the sea of dying men, Peter clutched his rifle tightly in his hands and headed in what he hoped was the right direction. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead and he rounded a small hill only to grind to a halt and slip to his knees in the mud._

_Blood pouring from his neck, Corporal Arty Smythe stood directly in front of him, his dead eyes boring into Peter's. He extended a blood-covered hand toward the oldest Pevensie, blood frothing from his mouth. "Peter…Peter…why didn't you…" Blood erupted from his mouth in a gloppy mess. "Why didn't you save me? You knew…you knew they were there. You killed me, Peter."_

_Peter was shaking his head. "No, no, I couldn't. They wouldn't listen, I couldn't do anything, Arty!" he cried, reaching out to try and warn the advancing man off. As Arty reached him, his face morphed into a swarthy, sweating blonde man with a rifle trained on Peter._

_Fumbling for his own weapon, Peter jumped and waited for the pain when the gun in front of him barked off a shot. No pain came, but his hands were clenched to his stomach and when he moved them, they were coated in blood._

_He looked up and promptly fell back. "Lu!?"_

_In the place of the soldier who'd shot him was his little sister. She was in a beautiful dress, a bright red, in sharp contrast to the death and muck around her. Her eyes were hard and accusing, like Arty's had been. The rain poured down around her, but didn't touch her. Her hair and dress billowed in the wind, but the effect only made her seem more distant, more untouched by what was going on around her._

"_Why didn't you listen to me?" she said, voice harsh and unforgiving, each word stabbing into him like a knife in the heart. "I knew you'd fail, Peter. You didn't defeat the White Witch at Beruna, you couldn't capture Miraz. Why can't you do anything right? You leave death in your wake."_

_Her body suddenly grew until he was looking at Arty again. As Arty fell, the body morphed again into a Faun. A spear burst from the Faun's chest and he too fell. The body morphed again into Glenstorm's son. A crossbow bolt hit him in the shoulder, followed by another and another and his eyes locked on Peter's begging him to do something._

_Peter reached forward and screamed as the centaur finally fell._

"NO!"

Even without the use of his legs, Peter was able to fling himself into a sitting position, arms trembling at the effort of holding himself upright. He saw the dark rock next to him and for a moment expected to feel the rain.

His head snapped to the side and instead of dead soldiers, or worse, advancing troops, he saw a group of Fauns and Centaurs eying him with worry. Gulping back a sob of relief, he nodded to them and then flopped back down shakily.

His heart was beating a mile a minute and he couldn't get the images of dying friends and of Lucy, skirts flapping in the wind, untouched by the rain, standing in the Greek countryside surrounded by death.

_That was the most disturbing image of them all_, he thought, as he put a hand on his chest and tried to calm down. His baby sister, who wasn't such a baby anymore, could skewer him better than any sword or bullet with just her words.

Part of him realized she didn't say those things, but the words she _had_ spoken were still fresh in his mind and he put his hands on his face and scrubbed at it. He had failed, just as she had said. The deaths _were_ on his hands, just like she had all but said.

He heard the clop of a centaur's hooves and then saw four legs next to his pallet.

"High King Peter?"

Looking up he saw a young centaur, a bowl of stew and a cup of water in his hands. "Dad asked me to bring you this," he offered the food and drink. "He said to stay and make sure you ate it because your brother and sisters are in a meeting." Setting the cup and the bowl on a nearby outcropping, he knelt down and pulled Peter into a sitting position so the High King could eat without choking.

Peter studied the young being. "Who is your father?" he asked suddenly. "And what's your name?"

Rising back to his feet and setting the bowl and glass into Peter's outstretched hands, the centaur said, "My name's Halston. My father is General Glenstorm." He turned toward a female centaur. "That's my mother, Willowwind." A frown crossed his face. "My brother died."

Peter nearly dropped the bowl and glass as the centaur in his dream flashed before his eyes and he remembered that same face, upturned in death, in the courtyard of the Telmarine castle.

"Your brother died in the raid," he whispered, eyes clouding in pain. "I'm very sorry, Halston." He looked up when Halston stomped the ground with one of his hooves, seemingly agitated.

"It is _not_ your fault, Your Majesty," he said. "My dad told me you stayed until the last Narnian alive got out. You couldn't save everyone. Silius wouldn't want you to blame yourself, he would want you to focus on the next battle."

Halston's eyes widened suddenly. "Oh my, I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't." He stamped the ground again. "I always let my mouth get away from me." he muttered. He looked up in surprise when Peter burst out into a laugh. "What?"

Peter choked on his next laugh. "Forgive me, Halston. I appreciate your words, young centaur, and I am glad you let your mouth get away from you. Be warned though, I know such a trait can backfire on you as well."

Seeming suddenly wise beyond his years, Halston said solemnly, "Queen Lucy."

Peter looked up. "What?"

The young centaur smiled. "I heard her, in the Stone Table room. Talking to that scruffy dwarf. She really is sorry, you know."

Peter looked away. "I imagine she is, Halston. I imagine she is. Hey, you better go, your mother is gesturing rather strongly. I think she thinks you were bothering me. Tell her I said it was fine, and I'll back you up."

The young centaur smiled, bowed and hurried off leaving Peter to his thoughts.

_A/N: Next up, a bit more action and some planning. And some heroic Edmund, for all you Ed fans. Stay tuned! I'm hoping to keep posting one chapter a night. _


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Thanks to the reviewers and readers who have stuck with us so far! The Edmund scene that I teased you about is here! For those who have been reading and know about my daughter, Evie, she should be just fine. We are still seeing a specialist, but there doesn't seem to be much concern right now. Thank goodness! Enjoy the chapter! And a special thanks this chapter to Phoenixqueen, whose insight into sword-fighting was once again invaluable!_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised slightly._

**Part 12:**

Edmund frowned, leaning over the map much like Peter was wont to do when planning campaigns. "You say it will take them at least half a day to get all their troops across the river once the bridge is completed?" He turned his attention to Caspian.

The prince nodded. "Yes, and Miraz will want to make a grand entrance so he will wait until they are all assembled before marching on the How. He will want to display his might."

Nodding, the young King turned to Glenstorm. "The preparations in the tunnels, how are they coming along? Could we use our trap doors if the battle came to us day after tomorrow?"

The centaur hedged. "I've got people working on it day and night, King Edmund. We aren't finished yet. It's a delicate process if we want it to remain a surprise and if we don't want the tunnels to come down on our heads."

Running a hand through his hair, Edmund nodded again. "Then we need a way to stall them."

There were murmurs amongst the assembled, but no suggestions until Caspian suddenly stood. "King Edmund, if I may?" He was given the go ahead and stepped forward. "My uncle is a murderer, but since I fled the night of my cousin's birth, he has been crowned a King and as such, has to hold to the traditions of his people. One of those could be of use to us."

Turning to Doctor Cornelius, he continued. "If I recall correctly, the ruler of an opposing nation or army can challenge the Telmarine King to single combat upon the field of battle. If we were to challenge Miraz, he would have to accept or lose face."

Edmund's eyes narrowed as he considered this plan. "So if I issued a challenge to Miraz as King, he would have to accept it? He'd have no other choice?"

Caspian nodded. "That is my understanding. And we could stipulate surrender as the reward for whoever wins. It would buy us a little time. We could set the time as noon the day after they arrive, giving us another day to prepare."

Doctor Cornelius chimed in here. "There is just one problem with this plan," he said, standing. "The tradition stipulates the leader of one nation, and that would be High King Peter. He has higher standing than yourself, King Edmund, and your sisters, and Miraz would not accept a challenge from anyone else."

Edmund frowned, looking to Caspian, Lucy and Susan. "Peter still has no feeling in his legs, Doctor," he said quietly. The Narnians assembled murmured and gasped at that, for many of them this was the first confirmation of their High King's plight. "But…perhaps we can get around that."

Susan eyed him closely, seeing the wheels turning in his head. "What are you thinking, Edmund?" she asked.

The Just King turned to her. "Do we know if Miraz is aware of what Peter looks like?"

Doctor Cornelius cocked his head to the side. "The stories depict him as a boy, fair of face and hair, but strong in heart and mind. That is about the extent of it. I doubt Miraz would have any more knowledge than that."

Susan turned to Caspian. "You don't think he would have realized it was Peter with me when we burst into his chambers, do you?"

Caspian shrugged. "I do not know. I did not call him by name," he said, still disturbed by his actions and trying not to let it get to him. He knew he still had to sit and talk with the Pevensies about that lapse in judgment.

"Then we can issue the challenge and I'll just have to pretend to be Peter if he isn't up and well by the time of the duel. I don't think it will come to that, because if I know my brother, he'll miraculously recover just in time." He turned to Glenstorm now. "Will that give you the time you need to finish preparations?"

The Centaur assured his King it would.

Turning now, he looked to Trumpkin. "Would you be willing to carry the message to Miraz?"

He knew that Trumpkin had been captured and nearly killed by Miraz, and half expected him to hesitate in his answer, but he was pleasantly surprised when the dwarf did not. Instead, he smiled firmly. "I'll do it," he said. "I'm sure they'll be happy to see me…"

Susan chuckled and Edmund smiled back. "I'll bet Trumpkin. And this time they won't be able to touch you, or try to drown you. You'll take a centaur and a Giant with you, however, just in case."

Trumpkin nodded at that and Lucy took advantage of a momentary lapse in conversation to add that the gryphons were ready and had already accumulated a massive store of stones to bombard the Telmarines with when the time came.

Edmund smiled at her and patted her shoulder. "Good work, Lu. It will be very effective, I think."

With nothing more to discuss, Edmund dismissed everyone, staying behind to write the message to Miraz and then planning to accompany Glenstorm to study the work being done in the tunnels.

"Come on, Lucy," Susan said quietly, "we should go check on Peter, I don't like the idea of him being alone right now."

Nodding, the youngest Queen followed her sister out, with Caspian and the dwarf Nikabrik following.

Caspian was heading down the tunnel when a voice stopped him. "Prince Caspian, a word if you would?" Turning, the prince faced the dark-haired dwarf and nodded for him to continue. Nikabrik sidled closer. "You do not think a thirteen-year-old boy can bring victory to Narnia, do you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "His brother brought nothing but death to us so far, why should you think he could be any different?"

For a moment, in shock at these words, Caspian did and said nothing. Then he took a menacing step forward. "I should not like to hear you speak of High King Peter or King Edmund in such a fashion again, dwarf. That is treason and you would do well to remember that."

Nikabrik snorted. "Treason? Those children don't belong here and they shouldn't be in charge of this army. We need a real leader, not little babies. And I know just who we can have, someone with years of experience, Prince Caspian."

The young Telmarine frowned. "What is this you speak of?"

Nikabrik leaned closer. "She ruled Narnia and kept it free of invaders for one hundred years, Prince Caspian. And I know how to bring her back."

Caspian jerked backward. "You speak of the White Witch. Never will I be party to her return. She was a murderer and a tyrant and no ruler of Narnia." He would have gone on, but he was suddenly hit from behind and dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

"I thought you said he would cooperate," the werewolf said from behind Caspian, a club held in his right paw. Dropping the club, he heaved Caspian up and dragged him into the nearby Stone Table room and dropped him on the ground in front of one of the stone trilithions, with Nikabrik trailing him. "Turned out to be a bit more noble then you thought, eh?"

Nikabrik frowned at him and jerked up Caspian's arm. "Whatever, just get the hag and let's get this done before those blasted kids get us all killed."

A creature dressed in rags swayed close to the fallen Prince, muttering all the while, and began to draw a circle around him. She kept up her chanting as a wall of ice formed next to the Stone Table and the image of a woman, dressed in flowing white, appeared on the other side.

"Loyal dwarf, extend his hand to mine so that the blood of this Son of Adam can restore me to power and my rightful place as Queen of Narnia!" The woman called out. Her face was a mask of excitement and greed as Nikabrik sliced open Caspian's palm and held it out to touch hers.

There was a crack and the ice in front of the woman receded, revealing her form. She stepped through the crack and it sealed behind her, the ice disappearing from view entirely leaving only the woman in white standing beside the cracked table.

"Hail, Jadis, Queen of Narnia," the werewolf, dwarf and hag intoned, bowing to the floor in front of her. She barely acknowledged their fealty, instead snatching up the sword Nikabrik was holding.

"Take me to his _Majesty_ King Peter," she said with a sneer. "It is time his reign ended."

* * *

Lucy reached Peter's corner of the main chamber and was surprised to see Peter wasn't in it. She looked questioningly at Susan, who's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion too. They turned when a female centaur approached.

"Your Majesties," she said, bowing. "Dwarf Nikabrik suggested the High King be given more privacy. His Majesty agreed and was moved right through there," she pointed to a nearby tunnel that Lucy knew led into what had formerly been a food storage chamber.

"Thank you," Susan said, urging Lucy to go in ahead of her while Susan gathered something for them to eat and a drink for Peter.

Lucy, hesitating for a moment, finally did enter the room to find Peter sitting up, staring forlornly at his unmoving legs, clenching and unclenching his hand in the blankets – the only sign that he was trying to move his legs and was not getting anywhere.

He looked up at her entrance and she was shocked to see his eyes widen in fear. Real fear. Of her. "Peter?" She said, halting in the doorway. "What's the matter? I…it's only me, I'd never hurt you." She broke off, chiding herself since she knew she had definitely done just that very recently. "I mean. I'm…Peter. Please."

Blinking, he let his shoulders slump in feigned relief.

"Sorry, Lucy," he muttered. "I was just remembering something from a dream. Come on in, welcome to my humble abode. It's the only thing I'll be seeing for quite some time, it seems."

She crept into the room and moved to a chair a few feet from Peter's bed, noticing the way he tensed up again as she drew close, but not commenting on it. "I'm sure it won't be that long, Peter. The cordial will fix everything. It always does."

Peter snorted. "Sure, and that's why suddenly only half of me works?"

"No, only half of you works because you were stupid enough to let yourself get distracted in battle, Peter," Susan said acidly. She hated when Peter got sarcastic and sharp-tongued. He could be beastly when he did, and there was enough tension in the group at the moment. They didn't need to add anymore disputes among themselves.

He grumbled at her, but didn't seem to take too much offense at her words. Inwardly, he knew they were completely true, and he couldn't fault her for stating the truth or the obvious. And perhaps he deserved this, since he had led so many to their deaths.

As if sensing his thoughts turning to self-loathing, Susan handed him an apple and a cup of water. "Eat. Drink. Now."

Peter looked up at her as he took them and mumbled, "Yes, mum…"

Lucy remained quiet, watching her brother eat and converse awkwardly with Susan. Neither one of them spoke of anything truly serious or deep, just kept up a running commentary to pass the time and push back the silence.

All three of them jumped, though, when a boulder that they had thought part of the wall beside Peter's pallet was pushed aside and a figure they never thought they would see again glided regally into the room.

"Well, what do we have here? A crippled High King and his two little sisters? This will be all too easy…"

Peter's heart was in his throat and he only just managed to whisper, "Jadis? How?"

She smiled. "It seems, _High __King_ Peter, that there are those amongst your army who don't believe the Kings and Queens of Cair Paravel can bring them to victory. They wished to have a new leader, one who would. All it took was a single drop of blood. Too bad I couldn't have taken it from your brother, but he wasn't available."

Peter's eyes widened at that. "If you hurt him…"

She slapped the flat of her sword against his shoulder, resting it there menacingly. "You'll what? You can't even stand, Peter, dear."

It wasn't Peter who answered her. All he could do was watch in trepidation as his little sister jumped to her feet and flung herself toward the Witch's blade.

"No, but we can!" Lucy shouted just before she shoved the sword away from her brother's vulnerable neck, actually surprising the Witch so much that she released her grip on the blade and it clattered to the ground.

Susan was ready to fire an arrow into the woman's heart, but Nikabrik surged into the room and slashed at her, forcing her to retreat and use her bow to ward off the attack. Peter was defenseless and powerless to intercede, sitting wide-eyed on his pallet and wanting nothing more than to have a sword in hand to help.

Lucy was no match for Jadis and was quickly subdued. Susan, seeing the Witch hovering over her sister with her reclaimed sword, was suddenly hit from behind and dropped to her knees. "You humans need to learn to watch your back," the werewolf chuckled, holding her down by the shoulders.

Peter watched Lucy struggle angrily, seemingly without a care for her own life, as Jadis pulled her to Peter's side. "Who shall I kill first, Peter? Your youngest sister? You? Or maybe that one there?"

She was about to stab Peter with her sword when her eyes averted for a moment to a pile of armor just within arm's reach – and in particular, the glinting golden hilt of a sword.

Reaching out, she smiled and took hold of Rhindon, drawing it from its sheath. "Fitting," she said as she lifted the sword and brought it forward to Peter's chest, letting her other sword rest against Lucy. "You shall have the honor of being felled by your own sword."

It was painfully obvious that Jadis intended to kill Peter first, because she was pressing the tip of Rhindon against his chest, poised to deal him a death blow. He eyed her with the most loathing he could conjure and said, "You'll never win, either way. You won't find all the Narnians as quick to follow you as these three."

Jadis pushed forward a little harder on the sword and Peter gasped as it broke the skin. He bit his lip to hold in a shout of pain. Leaning close to him, hand still gripping Lucy, the Witch dug the sword a tiny bit further and smirked as he jerked in response.

"Perhaps. But you won't be around to find out." She suddenly flung Lucy to the ground and reset her stance, preparing to shove Rhindon forward. Three cries echoed in the chamber.

* * *

Edmund sighed, leaning against the wall just beyond the main chamber. Out from under the eyes of the war council, he wasn't so sure he had made the right decision, sending out the challenge to Miraz.

While he really did believe Peter would recover in time, he feared for his brother since he knew there was no way in Narnia that the High King would let Edmund fight in his stead, even if he still felt weak.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he let out a muffled growl. "Aslan, why did this have to happen to Peter right _now_? I mean, I'd prefer it hadn't happened at all, but he is the best tournament fighter among us and we need him if this is going to work. And we don't need him in rough shape."

He heard scuffling coming from the nearby Stone Table tunnel and pushed off the wall. Just as he was reaching the corner, a figure stumbled right into him, knocking him to the ground.

There was a pained cry from the figure, and Edmund pushed upward until he could see who it was. "Caspian!" He exclaimed. "What in the blazes? Were you a bit preoccupied and didn't see me?" He stopped suddenly, his right hand sticky where it grasped Caspian's left. "Why are you bleeding?"

"Kin…King Edmund…" the young Prince panted, suddenly wrenching his arms from Edmund's and gripping the boy's shoulders. "Witch. Dwarf brought her back, I saw them leaving the chamber. She's going to kill King Peter and your sisters!"

Edmund's eyes widened and he jerked back. "This isn't something you joke about, Caspian. She is dead, Aslan killed her. Why would you say such a thing?"

Caspian shoved him back and stumbled to his feet, hand pressed to the back of his head. "I'm not lying!" he shouted. "We need to help them. Now!" He clenched his bleeding palm against his side. "They knocked me out and must have used my blood to bring her from the netherworld."

Edmund studied the Telmarine's face for a moment more. Then, seeing the truth in his eyes, jumped to his feet and took off without a backward glance toward the main chamber.

Bursting into the large room, his eyes darted to where Peter's pallet had been.

It wasn't there.

"Glenstorm? Where is King Peter?" he called out, running forward toward where the centaur and his wife and son stood. The female centaur, seeing the urgency in Edmund's face and hearing it in his tone, pointed wordlessly to a small chamber, the wooden door of which was tightly closed.

Twisting on his heel to change direction, Edmund drew his two swords and didn't hesitate for a second as he slammed his foot into the door and it creaked and then flew open.

Standing on the threshold with swords drawn, Edmund wildly took in the scene before him: Susan on her knees held at bay by a large werewolf, Nikabrik hovering behind him, Lucy in the clutch of a figure he knew all too well and Peter – Peter trying vainly to hide the pain of a sword, which Edmund recognized as Rhindon, cutting into him.

He could see the Witch's muscles straining and caught the tail end of her words and shouted, "Leave him alone, Witch!" just as Lucy and Susan cried out, "NO!" Peter's eyes had snapped up at Ed's voice and he shook as the blade crept a bit further into him, but didn't skewer him as she had been about to do.

Edmund couldn't see it, but a broad grin spread across the woman's face at his voice and arrival. Peter wanted to cry out in relief, but decided against doing so as the blade was precariously close to ending his life right now and he didn't want to make any sudden moves.

Lucy was still squirming beside him and he chanced a glance at her face to find tears silently streaming down it and her eyes locked, not on Jadis' face or shifted to see Edmund in the doorway, but on the sword tip and the blood on his shirt. She was petrified.

Edmund stepped further into the room and there was a commotion just outside the doorway as Caspian forced concerned Narnians to stay back, uncertain what Jadis would do to Peter if they all burst in.

"Let him go, Jadis," Edmund said. "Or are you too cowardly to face someone who isn't confined to bed?" He twirled the sword in his right hand, cocking his head to the side in challenge.

Jadis' grin turned feral as she looked into Peter's eyes. "I suppose I could wait a bit before I kill you, Peter, dear." She turned slowly to face Edmund, although the sword still hovered at Peter's chest. "I have long wished to spill your blood, Traitor King. Are you so certain you are ready to die?"

She suddenly wrenched the blade backward and Peter jerked and yelped as the blade slipped out of him. It wasn't too deep, but it stung like a beast and bled freely. He immediately moved a hand to staunch the flow as Jadis turned around to face his little brother.

Edmund didn't appear perturbed, but on the inside his guts were twisted into knots so tight he was surprised he was able to breathe properly. Jadis stalked closer, blade held out, Peter's blood glistening on the tip.

Raising both swords, she eyed Edmund over the crossed blades. "Surely we can make a sport of this," she said. "Move out where we have the room to fight. Or are you too cowardly to do this properly?" she continued, turning Edmund's words back on him.

Peter wanted to shout out a resounding "No" and stop his brother from facing this demon, but he could only watch as Edmund nodded his agreement and backed out of the room. Jadis nodded to Nikabrik, who pulled his blade forward and prodded Susan to move out of the chamber.

The werewolf moved to prod Lucy and Peter shook in rage as he was left in the room, his siblings in the clutches of the vile Witch. His solitude was short-lived as Caspian surged into the room and reached for his wound, peeling the fabric back to look at it.

"I'm fine," Peter ground out. "Help me out there!"

Caspian met the High King's fierce gaze and nodded, stooping to lift Peter up. The latter winced as a sharp jolt ripped through him at the movement, but he paid it little mind, focused on the fact that his little brother was about to fight for his life, and the lives of his whole family.

The Telmarine prince managed to bring Peter just outside the splintered door before he had to set him down. "I am sorry," he apologized. "I am too dizzy to take you further." He was rubbing his head again and Peter only now noticed the blood in his hair and on his hand.

He couldn't respond as he caught a glimpse of Edmund and Jadis standing in the center of the large, open chamber. Several of the Narnians had reached for weapons upon seeing the Witch, but Edmund waved them off. He stood facing Jadis, to all observers appearing outwardly calm, but Peter could tell by the subtle tension in his shoulders that Edmund was ready for any trick the Witch might pull.

Jadis suddenly made the first move, raising one blade and swinging it fiercely at Edmund's head, while, under cover of that overt attack, she brought Rhindon up and around to cut at Edmund at waist level. The look on her face was one of deep satisfaction.

Edmund however, despite being back in the body of a 13-year old, still had years of experience in sword fighting, and easily blocked both blows, before twisting his left wrist and forcing Rhindon away from his side as he attempted to gut Jadis and end the fight swiftly and decisively.

Jadis seemed surprised at the unexpected resistance, but still managed to get both of her blades around to block Edmund's attack, batting aside the blade and spinning out of the way of his second sword. Continuing the motion of the swing, she brought both of her blades around, intending to slice Edmund in half.

Instead of blocking, Edmund did the one thing Jadis didn't expect. He leaped backward out of the way, turning her own momentum against her and then taking the opening to bring one blade down in a vertical slash, the tip grazing the Witch's back and drawing blood.

Jadis whirled around and gave Edmund a very ugly look, but there was something else in her eyes, something that Peter had seen once before.

Fear.

When Aslan had appeared on the battlefield at Beruna, for one brief instant Peter had seen true fear in her eyes. Now, he was seeing it again. The last time Edmund and Jadis had fought, Jadis had defeated Edmund easily.

Jadis had come into this fight expecting it to be just as easy as before, but Edmund wasn't that same inexperienced boy that he had been the last time they locked blades, and she was just now realizing it.

She increased the speed of her attacks, but Edmund matched her blow for blow, moving with all the grace and skill of the trained swordsman he was, second only to Peter in skill when it came to one-on-one combat. Lashing out at him, she managed to overbalance him, forcing Edmund to dive out of the way of her swords, although she did succeed in gashing his upper arm and shoulder with Rhindon, just below where he had taken the arrow wound during the raid. Edmund's blood gleamed wetly in the dim light of the cavern as it mingled with the still wet blood from the wound that Jadis had earlier dealt Peter.

The younger King hit the stone floor hard, but recovered quickly, rolling away from a vicious blow from the Witch, and once he was a few feet away from Jadis – thankfully out of reach of her swinging blades – he jumped to his feet again.

Edmund locked eyes with Peter for a moment, and the eldest Pevensie watched resolve firm in those dark eyes before Edmund turned back to Jadis with a truly fearsome grimace on his face, one of mingled pain and anger. For a moment, Peter couldn't help but compare the look on his brother's face with the one he had seen on Caspian's in Miraz's chamber. Edmund was angry, yes, but he was keeping a tight stranglehold on that anger, not allowing it to influence him or distract him.

"You've hurt my family enough, Jadis. This ends here."

_Well_, Peter revised his thought, _almost no influence._

In a flurry of fierce sword strokes, the Just King drove the White Witch back and she was forced to give ground swiftly and awkwardly, her blocks barely effective against the whirlwind of Edmund's twin blades. He was nigh unbeatable with two swords and Jadis was about to learn that lesson the hard way.

There was a collective gasp as Edmund knocked Rhindon from the Witch's hand and locked the other above her head with one of his as he thrust the second blade he held into her chest.

Her eyes widened in pain and shock as she gazed at his face.

"You've learned a bit, I see," she whispered. "I'll never leave you. I'm a part of you, traitor."

She crumbled to the ground and he leaned down close to her. As he wrenched the blade from her body and stared into her pain-filled, but still incensed eyes, he whispered, "I am King Edmund the Just and I have you to thank for that, really. I know my place and I've paid for my traitorous ways. You have no hold on me now, Witch."

Before their eyes, Jadis' body suddenly lost form and disintegrated into dust, blowing around the chamber though there was no wind to explain how. When the dust settled and mingled with the dirt on the ground, Edmund lowered his swords, struggling to calm his rapid heart and breathing.

At the Witch's fall, the werewolf and Nikabrik had turned tail and tried to run, but hadn't gotten far before they were stopped by Glenstorm and a returning Trumpkin.

"Edmund!"

Susan ran forward and grabbed her brother into a strong hug. "You were amazing, brother-mine," she whispered as he wrapped his arms, still holding the swords, around her slight form.

Lucy hugged him from behind and Edmund lifted his eyes to see Peter's relieved ones from where he was sitting awkwardly against the wall outside his chamber. Pulling himself from his sisters' grasps, he sheathed his swords, reached down to where Rhindon had fallen and picked the blade up.

The blood, his and Peter's, still stained the tip and Edmund grabbed a nearby cloth and quickly wiped the blade clean before walking over to his brother and handing him back his sword.

Lucy's eyes had followed Edmund, and now they widened as the situation fully hit her and she suddenly took off across the chamber toward Peter's sitting form. The High King, dropping his sword before she impaled herself on it, let out a surprised "Oomph" as she flung herself into his lap like a little child.

"Peter, I was so scared, I thought she was going to kill you and I hadn't said I was sorry and I was so afraid you hated me and you'd die thinking I hated you…" She was babbling into his shoulder, tears falling in torrents.

Caspian edged away to give the two a little privacy and dragged a few curious others with him.

Peter didn't respond immediately, but did tighten his arms around Lucy. "Oh, Lu," he said quietly. "I think I knew deep down you didn't mean it, I was just so caught up in how much it hurt."

She trembled in his arms and he held tighter, not letting her attempts to push away succeed. Finally she relented and collapsed back on him, limp and malleable. He managed to coax her into a position that took the brunt of her weight off his new wound.

"Peter, please, please, forgive me," Lucy said, looking up and meeting Peter's gaze. "I was hurt that you didn't believe me about Aslan, but I never wanted to make you feel like you were responsible for people dying. It's no one's fault but that vile Miraz. I feel so terrible, can you ever forgive me?"

For a moment, Peter didn't respond. Then he sighed. "I can forgive you, Lu, if you can forgive me for not believing in you. Your faith has never waivered and you would never lie about seeing Aslan. I suppose I was just unwilling to believe he wouldn't let _me_ see him too."

Hugging Peter tightly again, Lucy chanted, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," into Peter's shirt, tears shifting from fear and sorrow to joy when she knew that Peter was willing to put the fights behind him. "I love you so much, Peter. I'm so sorry I made you get hurt."

Her brother pushed her back again, brushing hair from her eyes and tears from her cheeks. "Made me get hurt, Lu? What do you mean?"

She averted her gaze and mumbled, barely audible. "You got distracted because of me and you got hurt. It's all my fault…"

He put a finger to her lips, "No, Lu," he said with conviction. "I got hurt because I let your words bother me when I should have put all my focus on the battle. It was my own fault and while I didn't want to think that at first, it is true. And you were right, the raid did fail. It was for a lot of reasons, not all my fault, but I wasn't without fault either." He sighed. "I think it best if we just put it all behind us and not pick at the details, Lucy. We both were wrong and we both were right. Can't we just acknowledge that and move on?"

She smilingly pushed his blonde hair from his eyes and nodded. "I think we can do that, Peter." She turned as Edmund and Susan approached and knelt on either side of Peter and Lucy.

"Are we all right?" Edmund asked quietly, looking from Lucy to Peter. Upon their nods, he smiled and meeting Susan's gaze, the two enveloped their brother and sister in hugs until they were a tangle of limbs.

Caspian looked on quietly, wishing for once that he wasn't an only child. He would dearly love to feel a love like the one the Pevensies obviously shared. Even when they were at odds with each other, it was still there simmering under the surface.

Susan dislodged first and pushed Lucy and Edmund back as she reached for Peter's chest to check his newest wound. "You know, Peter," she said with a grimace, "you sure go through a lot of tunics."

Peter laughed lightly at that and nodded, then grunted in pain as Susan prodded the wound. "What's the verdict, Su?" he asked. She frowned and he scrunched his nose, knowing what she was about to say. "It needs stitches, doesn't it? Oh I hate that…"

She patted him on the arm. "Just a few, Peter." Standing, she gestured to Caspian hovering nearby. "Can you get him back to his room? I have to gather a few things to treat his wound." The prince nodded and immediately set about doing moving the High King.

Edmund, promising Susan he would let someone look to his wound soon went to go speak with Trumpkin about the message and Miraz's response, and he promised to come explain what the heck was going on to Peter when he was fixed up. Lucy chose to accompany him to assure herself Trumpkin was indeed all right.

Susan returned to the chamber carrying medical supplies and asked that Caspian wait outside the door, just to make sure no one interrupted them while she worked. He nodded and settled against the doorframe, just within earshot.

Peter warily eyed the supplies Susan was rummaging through and tried not to shy away. She handed him a cup full of a sweet-smelling tea and he drank it without question, knowing it was laced with a pain-relieving herbal mix.

In a few minutes he felt it begin to work as his body began to relax and he felt oddly detached from his body. He could feel when Susan started cleaning the wound and listened to her soothing voice as she talked.

"Do you remember when we first rode out to battle after our coronation, Peter, and Edmund got a great big splinter and I chased him around the camp because he wouldn't let me pull it out?" she said with a small smile. "You were always the good patient. Still and relatively quiet." She paused when his breath hitched at her first stitch, but after rubbing lightly just beyond the wound, he calmed down and she continued both the stitching and the talking.

"Of course, you weren't always a quiet patient. If there was a fight going on, you were practically dragging me and my needle along with you trying to get back to it," she said, pausing again to give him a moment to collect himself. "Remember that time that you wouldn't sit still and I stitched a piece of your tunic into the wound on your shoulder? That wasn't pretty."

He let out a pained smile at that memory and Susan placed the last stitch and then started to secure a bandage over the wound. "Now that wasn't too bad," she said, nudging him until he was in his favorite sleeping position. "Rest, Peter. And when you wake up, may you feel worlds better. I'll take care of Ed for you, don't worry."

Peter drifted off to sleep, the exhausting day finally knocking him completely out.

* * *

Leaning against the wall, Caspian was privy to a side of Susan he had only heard of, never before encountered. She was called Queen Susan the Gentle, and now he could see why. Her gentle ministrations and her simple presence and words had been able to soothe her brother's pain.

Anyone could be fierce in battle, but many good warriors were hardened and somewhat callous because of their constant forays into fighting. But Susan was like night and day – she could turn off that warrior and become the gentle sister, healer and compassionate Queen.

He wondered if he would ever be able to turn off the survival instinct and rule a country with compassion, not the hard discipline of a soldier. He knew that High King Peter and King Edmund were both kind people, but they always retained an air of fierceness and boldness even outside of battle.

Susan, a ruler of no less power and radiance, gave off a completely different presence. Approachable. Kind. Compassionate. Gentle. Someone that a subject could approach and not feel overwhelmed by her presence. He imagined it would be a good trait to have, approachability, and if being gentle and compassionate was the way to achieve that, he would have to give it a try.

He was drawn from his thoughts when Susan appeared in the doorway. She gave him a small smile and gestured to his hastily wrapped hand and the bloody clump of hair at the back of his head.

"Come in here and let me tend those," she said, grasping his good hand and lightly tugging him into the chamber. Casting a soft glance at Peter, she drew Caspian to the furthest corner and sat him down.

He watched her fetch a rag, clean water and bandages before returning to sit in front of him. Reaching forward, she pulled his injured hand into her lap and began unwrapping the bloody cloth he'd tied around it.

"I want to thank you for alerting Edmund to the Witch's return," she said as she worked, not looking up and speaking softly. "If he had arrived even a moment later, Peter would have been killed."

Caspian sucked in a breath when the rag snagged on the edge of the wound on his palm. Susan smiled in sympathy, but held firm to his hand so he couldn't pull it back. "You are very welcome," he breathed. "It is no less than any of you would have done for me."

She smiled and wrapped the clean bandage around his hand.

"Still, I know we were a little cold to you after your suggestion about your aunt and cousin." She broke off when he shifted uncomfortably. "I trust it was the heat of the moment that caused you to suggest such a thing…" she prompted, looking up at him now.

He sighed. "I don't know. I was so angry that I let my anger get the best of me. Not everyone can be gentle at the drop of a hat, Queen Susan. But I promise, I shall try harder from now on."

Susan turned him around to get at his head wound and said quietly. "It isn't always easy being the gentle one, Caspian. Sometimes, it is hard to rein yourself in, but you must because anger will get you nowhere. I tried to tell you that in your uncle's chambers."

He nodded and she smacked him, telling him to hold still. "I see now that you were right," he said. "It would have served no one if I had killed him last night. I shall endeavor to remember your words, Queen Susan. They are very wise."

She came back around to his front and patted his shoulder. "You will make a fine leader some day, Caspian. Never doubt that."

_A/N: We are getting closer to the DUEL. I can't wait for that! It's going to be so fun!_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Bit later than usual, but a big longer as well! Longest yet, I think. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are GREATLY appreciated, of course…_

_A/N 2: This chapter has been revised slightly._

**Part Thirteen**:

The rest of the day passed quickly and when Peter next woke it was night and his siblings were all huddled sleeping around his pallet. Edmund's wound from the duel had been treated and he was clad in only a light tunic and pants, and to Peter's eyes, he seemed so much smaller than when he wore all manner of armor.

Susan and Lucy were cuddled together on a pallet of blankets, each covered from chin to toes by another blanket. Lucy's face was younger when she slept, Peter observed, and he could almost forget ever having "seen" it sneering at him in his dream.

Pushing up with his arms, he found his legs to still be useless and sighed unhappily. The new chest wound was smarting, but nothing overly painful and he was easily able to ignore it.

Tired of lying flat, Peter pushed and dragged himself until he was sitting against the wall beside his pallet and that alone had him panting. He knew that Edmund had issued some sort of challenge in his name and planned to fight in his stead if he wasn't well by day after tomorrow, and now Peter was starting to worry.

"Peter? What are you doing up?" came the sleep-soaked voice of said brother as Edmund pushed himself into a sitting position and wiped crust from the corner of his eyes.

Frowning, Peter looked at his brother and how he was hunched and stiff. "I was just thinking, Ed," he said. "How's the shoulder? She got you pretty good there."

Edmund delicately moved his arm and shrugged, wincing as he did so. "I'll live," he said. "Which is more than she can claim, eh?" He scooted over to Peter and slumped against the wall beside him. "Do you think she's really gone this time, Peter?"

He had spoken so softly, the eldest Pevensie wasn't entirely sure he had actually heard him. "I think the Deep Magic can do a lot of things, Ed. I'm not sure if she can ever come back – I didn't think she could _this_ time."

His brother sighed. "Yeah, me neither." He paused before turning to Peter and adding, "I was petrified when I burst in here and she was poised to kill you. It reminded me of when she was battling her way toward you at Beruna. She was so single-minded and bent on destroying you."

Peter leaned his head back against the wall, the ache in his chest intensifying, but not because of the pain of his wound – because of the pain of his memories.

"I felt entirely helpless myself, Ed, watching you two fight. I knew you could beat her, but it just felt so much like turning and seeing the two of you on that battlefield. I guess we think alike sometimes, huh?"

Edmund chuckled. "I guess." The dark-haired boy frowned. "Do you think less of me for wanting to kill her, Peter? Because I did. Want to kill her, that is. I really can't find it in me to feel bad about it right now."

Looking over at Edmund, who was now studying the ceiling intently, Peter sighed. "It depends on why you wanted to kill her, Edmund. When you burst into the room, what was the first thing you thought?"

His brother pondered for a moment before answering, "That I had to get her to stop what she was doing. I had to save you and protect the girls and the Narnians."

"So you didn't think something like, 'I am going to kill her' or 'I want to kill her', you thought you had to stop her," Peter prompted. Edmund frowned, but nodded in agreement.

Peter went on. "And when you were fighting her, what were you thinking?"

Edmund looked over at Peter's form in the darkened chamber and wondered what he could be getting at. "I suppose I was thinking I had to beat her so she couldn't hurt anyone else."

Peter turned to him. "You didn't think something like, 'I want to kill her for hurting my family.' Instead, you thought you had to prevent her from hurting people in the future."

Edmund's eyes widened and his lips turned up into a small smile. "Yes, I do believe that was what I was thinking. You're trying to show me that I was fighting her, and that I killed her, not for revenge, but to protect the ones I love."

The High King nodded with a grin. "Yes, Edmund. You didn't kill in the name of revenge for what she had done to you, though I'm sure Beruna was on your mind just as it was on mine. Instead, you did what you had to in order to protect lives. You did want to kill her, but you didn't want to kill her for what she _had _done, rather what she _would have _done. Try not to dwell on it. What's done is done, Ed."

Nodding, Edmund smiled. "Yes, and that's not all that is done. I still have some explaining to do, I expect. About this duel challenge I issued for you…"

Peter grumbled. "Yes, do tell, Ed, how do you expect to pretend to be blonde-haired and blue-eyed, again? Because I just don't see any hair-dye in Narnia."

Edmund smacked his brother lightly on the arm.

"Peter!" He quieted down when Lucy and Susan stirred on their pallet, but didn't wake. "I know that," he continued in a whisper. "But we couldn't think of any other way to stall the Telmarines. With luck, if it comes to me fighting and I keep the helmet on, they'll never notice the deception."

Shifting against the wall, Peter tugged on his legs to get them to cooperate. "Don't you mean _when_, Ed? I'm not getting better here." He refused to meet Edmund's eyes when the younger brother looked over at him. "I don't want you to do it, Ed, I just don't. Your body is thirteen again, and you don't have nearly the muscle tone you did as an adult. I'm at least a little closer to it. Miraz is not a small man by any means and I think he'll throw his weight around more than fight with speed."

He could hear Edmund shifting beside him and suddenly a hand was tilting his head up. "I don't want to hear you even _suggest_ you won't get better, Peter Pevensie. Because you _will_ get better. Stop doubting, start believing in Aslan and maybe he can help you heal."

Peter smiled. "You're channeling Lucy, Ed…"

Laughing, Edmund nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Get some sleep, it's going to be a long few days and this might be the last chance we have for a good night's rest."

The two brothers were so weary, it was only a matter of minutes before they were fast asleep, side-by-side on Peter's pallet since Edmund had been too tired to move again.

* * *

Caspian shifted in his sleep.

The dark-haired figure beside his pallet looked up, checking to see if the Prince was awake and seeing he wasn't, slumped back down to wait some more.

This went on for ten more minutes before a confused voice erupted from the sleeping Telmarine. "King Edmund, is there a reason you are fidgeting beside my pallet?"

Edmund jumped at the voice and glared at Caspian. "Well, yes, actually. I wanted to talk to you, and figured I would wait here until you woke. I didn't know you were aware of my presence and ignoring me."

Caspian chuckled. "I wasn't aware of it until just now. I'm a heavy sleeper. If Doctor Cornelius hadn't woken me the night my cousin was born, I would most definitely be dead right now."

He sat up and blinked until he could see Edmund clearly; or as clearly as one could see in the dark chamber since it was still an hour until sunrise. Moving to sit up, he grimaced and gripped his head.

"All right there?" Edmund asked, reaching forward to help the young man sit when he appeared to be wobbling unsteadily. "I never did ask what happened to you, just sort of ran off after you told me of the Witch."

Caspian proceeded to tell Edmund the events of the previous afternoon that had led up to the moment he slammed into him in the corridor. "I suppose my head is still a little concussed," Caspian said with a frown as he lightly rubbed it. "Queen Susan tended it, but there is only so much one can do from the outside."

Nodding in agreement, Edmund edged closer. "I wanted to speak with you about revenge."

For a moment Caspian looked like he would not agree to such a conversation. But he realized he would have to discuss his actions with the Kings and Queens of Old at some point or things would fester.

"What did you wish to say?" Caspian said quietly. "I already know my actions got many people killed and I will never be able to atone for that. It's a lesson I'll not soon forget."

Edmund shook his head. "I'm not here to place blame, Caspian. I just want you to know that we all feel the pull of revenge but it is the mark of a leader when one can resist that pull and stay loyal to what they are fighting for, not what they are angry about."

Caspian hung his head and nodded silently. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I have never done something like this before and I am not sure how to make amends for it."

The Just King settled in beside him and sighed. "I expect the only way to truly make amends is to learn from the mistake and in the memory of those who did die, vow never to do it again."

He looked up at Caspian. "Do you know what I was thinking when I saw the Witch stabbing Peter in that chamber? After everything she had ever done to us, including nearly kill me, I didn't think how much I wanted revenge on her, only how much I wanted to stop her.

"There is a difference, as my brother reminded me. And when I was fighting her, all I thought of was how much was riding on my beating her – the lives of my family, friends and subjects. I wanted to kill her, yes, but not because of what she had done to me in the past, but because I couldn't let her hurt anyone in the future."

Meeting Caspian's eyes, he added, "That's something that took me a while to learn." He paused. "How much do you know about what took place before my brother and sisters and I were crowned Kings and Queens? About how I betrayed my family and Narnia – for sweets?"

Caspian's gaze snapped up to meet his. "Sweets? Betrayed? I do not know of this…"

Edmund groaned. "Nothing of it? Surely you know I went to the White Witch of my own free will upon entering Narnia with the others?" As Caspian shook his head, Edmund put his head in his hands. "Then you do not truly understand how hard a decision it was not to kill Jadis in revenge. Sit back, it's quite a story."

_This couldn't be happening! First Tumnus, and now that Fox. What had he been thinking, trusting this Witch and believing she would make him a prince or a king? She was evil, power-hungry, she had no use for him beyond bait for his brother and sisters._

_Stumbling, he fell hard onto the floor of the Witch's carriage and scrambled to get up as the dwarf's whip hit him on the back and he cried out. "Move it!" the creature barked, laughing at the Son of Adam's pain._

_Edmund set himself down quickly to avoid any further whipping and turned his gaze back to the still stone Fox for a moment, wishing there was something he could do to help him._

_It had felt good to be called 'Your Majesty' but he felt far from royal right now. He had betrayed his family for sweets and the desire to get one-up on Peter. Edmund had almost always felt he was living in Peter's shadow and the chance to get ahead of him had just been so tempting._

_Now, he only wished he was back in Peter's shadow, where he was at least safe. Ever since he had tried to be better, he had only managed to be so much worse._

_As they rode toward this 'Stone Table' he had just revealed to Jadis, he remembered looking at his brother and sisters with no small amount of jealousy at the Beaver's dam. _

_He had been angry at Peter for once again taking charge. Oldest sibling or not, he never seemed to ask what the others thought. It wasn't just that he felt Peter was trying to be their father, it was much more than that. Edmund had wanted glory, wanted to be the better liked. Peter was always more popular with his good looks and many friends. Edmund had always been the stick in the mud and brooding boy no one sat with in school._

_It had been why he had decided to start hanging out with trouble-makers this past year and _that_ had marked the beginning of the war between Peter and Edmund. _

_Now, he wished for nothing more than his brother to scoop him up in his arms and protect him from the Witch, the dwarf, and the strange world he was floundering in._

Caspian was silent. His mind was reeling as he thought about his own reaction to his cousin's birth. How he had briefly felt intense anger and jealousy at being ousted from what he felt was his rightful place in the Telmarine court.

He had let those feelings come to the forefront when he suggested using the young child and his aunt against Miraz. And he knew he was still bitter when he had faced his uncle, wanting nothing more than to see him suffer for taking everything he had ever known away from him in one fell swoop.

"What happened next, King Edmund? Why did you not seek revenge on the Witch this time, when you had the skills to do so? She had led you to betray your family, used you to try and kill them." Caspian asked, needing to know the answer.

Edmund took a deep breath. "This is something I've not told anyone, mind you. But I think it could benefit you as it did me. You and I are very much alike, not like Peter, who I don't think has a selfish thought in his head, or Susan who could do nothing to hurt another, or Lucy, whose faith and innocence keeps her on the straight and narrow. We are the…the black sheep, perhaps…"

Caspian smiled lightly at that. There was something different about Edmund, and he was about to find out what had turned him from the scared, confused, and hurt boy who wanted to be greater than his brother, to the King who would follow the same brother's rule to the letter, no matter what it asked of him.

_Edmund had never been so tired and sore in his life. As he walked beside the large Centaur, hands stuffed in his pockets, he couldn't help but mentally thank this Aslan fellow for his stroke of luck and his rescue._

_When the Narnians had come charging into the camp, intent on rescuing him and nothing else, Edmund had felt his heart leap. _Someone_ still cared about him, even though he had betrayed everyone and everything they believed in._

_Now, he was on his way to Aslan's camp and he was afraid of what he would find. Would Peter and Susan and Lucy forgive him? He imagined the latter two would, but Peter… Peter was another story. His brother would be so disappointed, he just knew it, and it bothered him to no end for some reason. _

_Before he had wanted to be better than Peter, now he found he just wanted to make him proud. It was an oddly liberating feeling. Now, his thoughts turned to the Witch._

_He hated her. Oh, how he hated her. After the way she'd tricked him and used him, he would dearly love to silence her acid tongue forever. His thoughts were halted when a valley full of bright red tents and milling troops came into view as the group breached the tree line._

"_Behold, Aslan's encampment, my liege," the Centaur general said to Edmund, waving an arm to gesture toward the tents. "His Majesty, King Above All Kings, Aslan, is waiting for you just over that rise," he pointed out the rise in question and waited silently._

_Edmund, realizing he was to go on alone, gulped and stepped forward, forcing himself to keep walking until he could see over the rise and stopped dead in his tracks._

_A lion. A _huge_ lion, more like. _

"_A…Aslan?" he asked, voice and body trembling, hoping this really was Aslan and not some wild beast that was going to attack and probably eat him._

_The great golden head turned and the yellow eyes focused on him with such intense feeling and wisdom that Edmund almost took a step backwards under the heavy gaze. _

"_Edmund, Son of Adam, step closer."_

_The young boy did as he was bidden and stepped to within a few feet of the lion, his head bowed and eyes downcast. He didn't raise them even as Aslan addressed him._

"_What's done is done, young Edmund," he said, his voice gentle and full of caring compassion. "I have no need to tell you what you have done wrong, I only wish to ask what you plan to do now."_

_Edmund did look up now. "Do? What do you mean, sir?"_

_Aslan looked beyond Edmund to the encampment below. "We will do battle with Jadis, whom you know as the White Witch, and you will come face-to-face with her again. I wish to know what you will do."_

_With a frown, Edmund followed his gaze to the camp and watched as the warriors sharpened blades, ate and laughed, and practiced in the archery field. "I want to make her pay for what she did to me," he said with honesty. "For making me betray my family."_

_There was a rumbling from Aslan's throat that startled Edmund and made him turn back to the lion. There was disappointment in those eyes and it pained him. _

"_She did not __**make**__ you do anything you did not want to do, Edmund. Yes, her enchantment may have made it easier, but you did __**want**__ to be king above your siblings. You did __**want**__ to have glory they could not share in and set yourself apart from them. Do you wish to revise your previous answer? For it is not one of a King."_

_Edmund gulped and thought about it. "But, Aslan, I really do want to make her pay. Shouldn't I?" He turned a questioning gaze on the lion, whose face softened somewhat._

"_No," he said simply. "To do so would make you no better than her. To kill for revenge is a coward's way out. I ask you again, Edmund, what would you do if you faced her on the battlefield?"_

_Edmund wanted to grumble to himself and ask Aslan to tell him what he should say, since he obviously couldn't figure it out for himself. Before his thoughts could resolve themselves, a loud call from below caught his attention._

"_**Edmund!**__"_

_He turned his gaze back down to the field below and saw Peter standing outside a tent looking up at him, gently restraining Lucy from running up the hill towards him._

_There was no recrimination in his brother's eyes, nor was there forgiveness, but there was relief and there was love. He realized his answer stood there, waiting for him to finish his conversation with Aslan._

_Turning back to Aslan, he said, "I would do what it took to protect my family. I've hurt them enough already with my actions. If it meant fighting her, I'd do it. If it meant dying, I'd do that too. If it meant letting her go, I…I would do it." The last was painful to say, but he knew, somehow, it was what had to be said._

_Aslan rumbled again. "Then you, Son of Adam, will make a good King for my people. Go now, and be with your brother and sisters, for they have missed you greatly and fretted for your safety. We will not speak of this again, your betrayal is behind you and behind us. We move forward into the future and I shall hold you to your answer, Edmund."_

_The boy nodded lightly and headed down the hill to his waiting family._

"I was a bit annoyed at the time that Aslan wouldn't just give me a straight answer," Edmund said. "But I'm very glad he didn't, because it was really something I had to figure out for myself. I'm a much better person for it. He didn't have to even say it himself, but he taught me that revenge is not the way. Protecting my family, not hurting them, that was the answer. That's what I had to do. That is what _you_ have to do, if the time comes," Edmund finished.

Having said his piece, King Edmund the Just stood, bowed lightly to Caspian and strode off into the dark chamber toward his brother's chamber leaving a contemplative Caspian in his wake.

_If I end up being half the King that Edmund the Just has become, then I will be a great ruler,_ Caspian thought to himself as he settled back down to think about his uncle, his anger and his choices to come in the future.

* * *

The day before the duel, preparations were being finalized for a battle the Narnians hoped would be unnecessary – confidence in the ability of both their Kings enough to give them hope that a battle could be avoided.

Peter and Edmund, however, knew that even if whichever of them fought in the duel were to win, the Telmarines could not be trusted to honor the surrender stipulation and they would need to be ready to fight.

It was with this in mind that Peter called a meeting and had his brother and Caspian get him to the Stone Table room in order to attend. There was something that needed to be done that hadn't been, and he wasn't sure how his siblings were going to take it.

"I asked you all here because there is one more task that must be undertaken before tomorrow's duel and possible battle," Peter said, addressing the assembled Narnians from where he sat in front of the Stone Table. Shifting, he turned his gaze on Lucy. "We need to search for Aslan."

There was a flurry of voices, some angry, some incredulous, some fervently in support of Peter's words. He gave the Narnians a moment to get out their thoughts before calling out, "Quiet, please!"

A hush returned to the chamber as his voice magnified in the cavern. "This is a battle we cannot hope to win without Aslan's help, and I wish I had realized that sooner," he said, keeping his apologetic eyes on Lucy. "It's time we remember who really won the Battle of Beruna and call on him to aid us now. The duel will stall the Telmarines long enough for Queen Lucy to ride out and find Aslan."

Susan's sharp intake of breath was audible from across the room and he could see her brow scrunch up as she prepared to launch into a scathing lecture. Her tirade was cut off before it started when a quiet voice sounded beside her.

"Thank you, Peter. For believing in me."

Lucy stood up and turned to the Narnians. "I know Aslan is out there, I saw him. I know he will help us, if only we seek him out." She turned to Susan. "This was a surprise, Su, I didn't know he had it in mind. But I'm going, and I'd like for you to go with me."

Susan Pevensie was many things, but when it came to her sister Lucy, she was one above all – protective. The very idea that Lucy would be riding out to search for Aslan when the forest would be crawling with Telmarines almost had her disagreeing with Peter and refusing Lucy's request. But then again, she never _could_ refuse the younger girl and instead she sighed and looked from Lucy to Peter. "I shall be going with her," she said quietly.

Edmund's jaw was working but he wasn't saying anything. He wished Peter had consulted him before making such a rash decision! The danger he was putting their sisters in was more than Edmund would have liked, but he could see the need.

He _had_ been the one to remind Peter to believe in Aslan, and he suspected that had spurred Peter into action. This action. Lucy's persistence that she had seen the Lion probably played a large part too, of course.

With a shaky hand pushing through his hair, brushing it off his forehead, Edmund, upon whom all eyes had turned, nodded in agreement with his siblings. "It is for the best," he said tiredly. "If anyone can find Aslan, it is Queen Lucy. She has always been closely connected to him."

Peter smiled at his siblings, knowing how hard it must have been for them to agree with him without question. That had been partly why he'd brought up the topic in a full meeting – because they rarely contradicted their High King in front of others. Although he was sure he'd be hearing about it later from Susan and Edmund.

"Then we are set," he said to the masses. "Queens Lucy and Susan will leave at first light. In the event that the duel is unsuccessful or the Telmarines do not hold to their word, we will be in position to counter their attack as best as we can." He turned to Glenstorm in particular. "Those with youngsters in their family must decide if they wish to send them off or keep them at the How. It will not be easy to assure their safety here, but if you choose to let them stay, we will do all we can to protect them."

The Centaur, who'd already lost one of his sons, nodded solemnly, but didn't answer Peter's question. The High King knew it would take thought and trusted that those who had younger family at the How would approach him later with their decision.

"Are there any questions? Peter extended.

"Yeah, your big plan to save the day is sending a little girl into the dark forest, crawling with the enemy, with only one archer – albeit a great one – as her guard? I'm sure you trust your sisters dearly, sire, but it seems a bit foolhardy."

Trumpkin's gaze was focused on Lucy as he spoke, never wavering. She could see he was worried for her, and knew he cared deeply for her. With a small, weary smile, she rested a hand on his shoulder.

"It is the only way, dear little friend," she said quietly. "I want to do my part. It might be hard for some of you to understand, but I was once an adult and played much more of a role in our campaigns. I'm no fighter, but they don't call me Valiant for no reason, as Edmund would say," she added with a smile.

Trumpkin's own smile was a little forced, but he nodded. "I know you are Valiant, Queen Lucy. I just don't want to see you hurt." He turned to Peter, expecting an answer from his King.

Meeting the dwarf's gaze, Peter's eyes betrayed his own worry, but his voice held no sign of it. "I have full faith that Susan will protect Lucy, but if she cannot, we must have faith that Aslan will. I lost faith in Aslan and it got people killed. I'm not going to make the same mistake twice," he said. "She will be no less protected riding out with Susan than if she were to remain here for a battle."

For a moment, Trumpkin appeared to want to argue more. But the hand still on his shoulder squeezed lightly. "Please have faith in me, Trumpkin," Lucy said, drawing his attention back to her. "I know I can do this, and I know I can find Aslan. Believe me?"

With a great huff, the dwarf nodded gruffly. "All right, Queen Lucy. I wish I could go with you, but the archers will need me since your sister will be accompanying you. May Aslan be with you and may you find him swiftly."

She smiled and her grip turned into a light pat as she set her gaze back on her oldest brother, who was watching her with pride and trepidation. She knew it hurt him to have to send her out, but she was glad he had found the strength and faith to do it.

"If no one else has anything to add…" Peter said, pausing to give someone a chance to speak. "Then there is one more matter to discuss." He nodded to a group of Fauns, who left the chamber and returned shortly with the dwarf Nikabrik and the werewolf, both bound at the hands and chained at the feet.

"We have to decide what is to be done with the traitors in our midst," Peter said as the Narnians glared, growled, and called out at the prisoners. The eldest Pevensie turned to Edmund, and let him take over.

Having passed judgment on many a Narnian in the past, Edmund got straight to the point. "You stand here accused of treason against High King Peter, Queen Susan, Queen Lucy, and myself by raising Jadis, the White Witch, from the dead, with the intention of seizing power for yourselves. You also stand accused of assaulting Prince Caspian, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy." He paused as the assembled Narnians roared in outrage at the charges.

Once the uproar had died down, he continued. "Have you anything to say on your behalf?" he asked. When neither of them spoke, he turned to his brother and sisters. "It would be my suggestion to exile them and banish them from the protection of the How and the Narnian army. Should they return, their lives will be forfeit."

He turned back to the accused. "After all, they don't think us wise or strong enough to lead, so why should they receive our protection?"

Peter nodded his agreement, as did Susan and Lucy.

As Edmund pronounced the judgment and was about to order the Fauns to see it done, there was a commotion from one side of the room and Peter's gaze honed in on it first.

A hag, unseen and forgotten, was bearing down on Edmund, a crooked dagger clutched in her hand, intent on slaying the King who had killed her Mistress. She was less than five feet away from the younger King.

As the assembled Narnians began to realize that she was there, she suddenly leapt at Edmund, who was so close to her that he didn't have an opportunity to draw one of his swords in his own defense.

Before anyone could react, before Susan could even notch an arrow to her bow, a small, gold-hilted dagger flew across the chamber, skimming past Edmund's head, and buried itself in the hag's chest, halting her advance.

Clutching at the lion-headed hilt, the hag turned her beady black eyes toward the source of the dagger and with a piercing wail, toppled backward and ceased moving, landing just short of Edmund's feet.

Peter's arm was still extended from the throw and he was shaking lightly. Lucy, who had been extremely surprised when he'd grabbed the dagger from her belt, reached out to him and hugged him. "It's okay, he's all right," she said.

Edmund, shaken, hurried over and gripped Peter's shoulder with a small smile. "Thanks, brother-mine. That was a bit too close for comfort." Quietly, he added, "And to think, you keep saying you're useless. I think I have to disagree…"

Calming now that the threat was passed, Peter let a small smile grace his face as he watched Glenstorm set a centaur to removing the hag's body from the chamber as Edmund turned back to the Fauns and ordered them to take the exiled prisoners outside the How and release them.

Clearing his throat, the High King drew the attention of the crowd. "Tomorrow will be a long day, so this meeting is adjourned," Peter said to close the meeting, and watched quietly as the Narnians filed out of the chamber leaving his siblings and Caspian alone.

The prince stepped up to Peter and nodded in respect. "I hope I can find the courage to make such difficult decisions as you do, some day," he said to Peter. "I must ask if you are feeling any changes?"

Peter shook his head. "None, unfortunately. If you could, Caspian, I'd like to return to my chamber. I'm tired and wish for a little solitude." He turned to his siblings. "Would you give me a little time to myself? Just until nightfall?"

They nodded, wary that he would spend the time moping, but knowing he had just as much a right to rest as anyone. Susan, drawing herself to her full height, patted him on the shoulder. "No wallowing, Peter. You _will_ get better, somehow, you always do." She stated she needed to brief her archers before the morning, and turned on her heel to find them, leaving Edmund and Lucy to linger beside Peter and Caspian.

"I'll go see to preparations in the tunnels," Edmund said, nodding his thanks to Caspian for aiding Peter, and then turning off himself and disappearing from the chamber. Lucy, raising her eyes, sighed. "Well I suppose I'll check the gryphons then," she said, and waved to Peter and left.

Peter turned his gaze to Caspian. "So, ready to lug this crippled King around again?" he said with a small, pained smile. Caspian glared with mock exasperation at the young man, but lifted him wordlessly and carried him back to the chamber off the main cavern.

"I shall leave you now, you'll need rest if you are to recover and fight tomorrow," Caspian said, once Peter was settled on his pallet.

He was turning to leave when Peter frowned and said, "I don't see myself dueling, but I thank you for your confidence nonetheless."

The eldest Pevensie was surprised when the prince turned and actually put his hands on his hips, exactly like Edmund was wont to do when Peter was being bullish. "High King Peter, where is that magnificent belief in yourself and Aslan I've heard so much about? Surely you haven't misplaced it?"

The young High King cocked his head to the side and a small chuckle escaped him. "You are channeling Edmund," he whispered, much to the prince's surprise. He sobered and added. "I'm sorry I despaired. I shall try harder not to, it is just such a late hour and there has been no change." He added quickly, "Thank you for your aid, ever since my legs went out, you've been a great help."

Caspian smiled. "It was no burden, my liege. You would have done the same." He bowed lightly and left Peter to his thoughts, which quickly turned from thoughts to dreams as the High King fell asleep thinking of Aslan and wishing he was here to help him.

* * *

"_Why don't you stand, High King Peter?"_

Peter mumbled as Lucy shook him from his sleep, "Aslan?" he whispered.

"No, silly, Lucy. I don't _think_ I look like a great, big, golden lion, Peter."

The High King opened one eye and took in the sight of his youngest sister, dressed in riding gear, hovering over him. "Sorry, Lucy, I was dreaming of Aslan, I guess."

He sat up, looking beyond her to Susan, standing dressed and ready to leave. "So you are setting out then?" he said quietly, wishing nothing more than to hide them away from the upcoming battle.

"We'll be fine, Peter," Lucy said. "Caspian is lending us Destrier, and promised that Destrier will take fine care of us." Peter noticed the prince in the doorway and nodded his thanks.

As the siblings said their goodbyes, Caspian was struck by Queen Lucy in particular. Even though the ten-year-old was riding out into the midst of enemy-infested woods, she had not lost any of her faith that she would find Aslan and all would be well.

He was hard-pressed not to lose hope. He would flip-flop from being sure things would turn out fine, to being sure they would lose and would all die. Looking at Lucy in riding gear and Susan in battle dress, he realized faith was something he needed to start having.

If Lucy could believe so strongly in Aslan, and Peter could send his sisters out to find this mysterious being, than surely he was worthy of such faith? Surely Caspian could put his faith in him too?

"Ready?" Lucy asked, startling Caspian from his thoughts. As he looked into her eyes, firm and steady in the knowledge she would find their savior, Caspian nodded.

"Yes, I think I am." Ready to lead them off, and ready to believe. Beckoning to the two Queens, he led them through the tunnels to the make-shift stables where Destrier was waiting.

Edmund, waiting off to the side, stepped forward. "Still no change, Peter?"

The High King turned his gaze to his brother. "No, Ed," he said with a sigh. "Perhaps later." He locked eyes with the younger King. "Promise me, Edmund, if I don't get better in time, that you will not lose."

Edmund gulped. "I can't promise that, Peter, and I think you know it. But I can promise to be careful and use everything you and Oreius ever taught me to beat Miraz."

Peter nodded and let Edmund hug him. "It'll have to do, then," he said. "But, let's hope it won't be necessary. I'll see you in the morning, Ed." He released his hold reluctantly and Ed nodded, leaving his brother to sleep. He knew if he stayed in the room, he would only be a distraction, so he left and settled down to sleep just outside the small chamber.

Weary and saddened by his lack of recovery, Peter fell into a fitful sleep thinking, once again of Aslan and all but pleading for his help.

* * *

"_Why don't you stand, High King Peter?"_

_Peter's eyes snapped up to meet the sage eyes of a great lion. "Aslan!" he breathed, heart surging with hope. "We hoped you would come, we need you! Will you help us in the battle?"_

_The lion shook his golden head, mane rippling. "I shall come to the battlefield when it is time for me to come," Aslan said, gazing at Peter with love. "But you needed me now and so I am here. I ask again, why don't you stand, High King Peter?"_

_The blonde boy frowned. "I can't, Aslan. My legs, they have no feeling. Lu's cordial didn't heal them. Is there anything you can do? My brother is set to fight a battle I'm not so sure he can win in my stead and I want nothing more than to help him, to help Narnia. I need my legs to do it."_

_Aslan looked at Peter for a moment. "Peter, dear boy, you don't need to ask my help when you've already received it." He backed up. "Now stand."_

_Unable to disobey the great lion, Peter dragged his feet under him and straightened his legs, surprised when he could feel them bear his weight. With a smile wider than he'd sported in ages, High King Peter the Magnificent was standing._

* * *

Edmund shrugged and bent, testing his mobility in his long unused armor. Lucy's cordial had healed his shoulder wound, but it had been (to him) many long years since he had used the armor he had worn at Beruna, and it felt a bit stiff.

Edmund gently fingered the small tear still present in the mail beneath his red tunic emblazoned with the golden lion and tried not to let the remembered pain of his wound bother him.

"Are you ready?" Caspian asked, standing beside Edmund. "If so, Glenstorm is prepared to walk out with you. I will fetch your brother from his chamber and bring him outside, somewhere he will not be seen by the Telmarines."

The Just King swallowed back his trepidation and nodded. "Thank you," he said. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He stood up, picking up his brother's sword and hefting it. "Glenstorm, here, I'll draw it when we reach the arena."

Nodding, the Centaur took hold of the sword and sheath as Caspian disappeared from the entrance of the How down toward Peter's chamber. Edmund turned toward the bright light of the day and the steady cheering and bleating of drums.

"This is it," he muttered, flipping the helmet visor down and hiding his face from view.

He and Glenstorm began their ascent onto the field and Edmund couldn't help but smile lightly at the rousing cheer the Narnians let out. As he walked, he could see Miraz in the distance and frowned at how much bigger the man seemed.

Edmund was jarred from his thoughts when the Narnian cheering faltered and there were gasps of surprise and shouts of excitement. Frowning, he turned around to see what was wrong and nearly toppled over in surprise.

Standing in the entrance to the How, dressed in full armor, was Peter.

Peter. In armor. _Standing_.

Edmund held in a whoop and it took all his effort to hold his ground and let Peter come to him. The elder Pevensie appeared to have no trouble walking as he moved quickly out onto the field and stopped a foot or so away from Edmund, eyes bright and deep blue in the afternoon sun.

"Were you going to start without me?" he said with a broad smile as Edmund jerked the helmet from his head and flipped back the mail covering his dark hair. "And here I thought the challenge was issued in my name?" Reaching forward, he pulled Ed into an awkward embrace, both of them hindered by their armor.

The younger King stuttered. "P…Pet…Peter, you're _standing_. When? How? Why didn't you say anything?"

As they turned and walked toward the ring, Peter explained quickly that he had dreamt of Aslan and when he woke, he had been healed. "I feel perfectly fine," he said. Though his chest was a bit sore still, he wouldn't say so to Edmund. "And I feel much better now that you don't have to fight."

His brother muttered under his breath, half in jest, half not, "I do too, he's a lot bigger up close."

Peter laughed lightly as they reached the ring, but sobered quickly as the gravity of the situation hit them both. Miraz, dressed in full armor, was glaring hatefully at the brothers, Peter in particular.

Turning to Glenstorm, Peter unsheathed Rhindon without hesitation, years of tournament fighting still ingrained in his younger, but still honed body.

Without further ado, the assembly watched as the combatants stepped onto the field, their helmets tucked under their arms, swords held loosely. As they watched, the young High King raised his blade in front of his face before tipping it forward in a courteous salute to his opponent, a gesture Miraz returned, before both fighters donned their helms.

Edmund watched from the side, praying to Aslan that Peter was up to this and praying that Lucy and Susan found the great lion soon.

In a clatter of swords and shields, the fight was on.

_A/N: Cliffie, I know, sorry. But it's 1:30 in the morning here!!_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: I really hope you all enjoy this, since it took FOREVER to write! Seriously, I don't know that I have ever done a fight quite this extensively. Forewarning, I might not be able to update tomorrow. I'll try, but I'm going to be gone all night. Enjoy this and lemme know if you think it was good! Thanks once again to Phoenixqueen for all the sword-fighting tips. It was fun brandishing my bread knife trying to figure things out._

**Part Fourteen:**

Their first clash was titanic.

Miraz came barreling toward the slightly shorter Peter and swung his sword down toward Peter's head, forcing the young High King to raise his shield and block the heavy strike. Peter could feel the blow all the way up his arm and into his chest as his muscles strained to keep the shield away from his body.

As he blocked the strike, he brought Rhindon across his body underneath his shield arm and swung from left to right, aiming for Miraz's midsection just below his chest plate. The Telmarine King lowered his own shield and batted Rhindon away, jarring Peter's arm as Rhindon impacted solidly with Miraz's shield before the two combatants disengaged and began to circle each other.

As he eyed Miraz, Peter was immensely glad he was fighting the man and not his brother. If his first strike was anything to go by, this was not going to be an easy duel. His miraculous recovery that morning had probably saved Edmund's life.

_Flashback_

_Peter smiled at Aslan and childishly stomped his foot on the ground, joyous at such a simple act now that he could feel his legs. "Oh, Aslan, thank you! I only wish I had not waited so long to ask you to heal me."_

_The great lion stood beside the High King and looked off into the wood. "I am always with you, Peter. Never forget that, child."_

_Peter nodded and turned to look in the direction Aslan had been gazing. He saw a darkness approaching, and shied back a step, turning to look questioningly at Aslan – only to see he was no longer there._

_Looking back up, Peter suddenly found himself within the darkness and realized that it was actually a dark chamber. A familiar dark chamber. The one he was staying within at Aslan's How._

"_King Peter! King Peter!"_

_His head snapped up as the door to his chamber burst open and in tumbled Prince Caspian. What was the young Telmarine doing in his dream? "I'm here," he said, waving lightly to his friend._

_Caspian's eyes widened and he took a faltering step backward, confusing Peter. "My word, you…King Peter? When?"_

_Frowning, Peter stepped closer to Caspian. "When what?"_

_The prince thrust his hands out in front of him and waved them at Peter. "This. You. Standing. When? When last I entered here, you had no feeling in your legs and now I come to find you standing as if you had never been injured."_

_Peter laughed. "It's easy to stand in my dreams, Caspian."_

_The young prince shook his head. "Your dreams? But, my liege – you aren't dreaming."_

_Cocking his head to the side, Peter faltered. "I'm not. But…"_

_Looking down, he realized he was indeed standing beside his pallet. His legs didn't tremble at all. There was no pain in his body save the small wound the Witch had given him._

_Disbelief coursed through him. Had Aslan been here to heal him? Or was he still dreaming and the dream-Caspian was trying to trick him? There was only one way to figure it out._

_He pinched his arm hard. _

_And yelped. _

"Ouch_," he exclaimed, ruefully rubbing the sore spot. "I guess I'm not dreaming."_

_Caspian broke in. "You must hurry, King Peter. Your brother is about to fight a duel in your stead!"_

_Peter's head snapped up and he looked to Caspian. "Then help me dress. There is no time to waste." Turning on his heel, he headed to the pile of armor across the room. There would be time to contemplate his miraculous recovery later. _

_Right now, he had a duel to fight._

_End Flashback_

He was drawn back to reality when Miraz suddenly spoke.

"Why don't you save yourself and your people before you get hurt, boy?" Miraz taunted, his eyes the only part of his face Peter could see through the helmet visor. "There is still time to surrender."

With a glare that Miraz probably couldn't see, Peter retorted, "Feel free to surrender then."

The Telmarine King shook his head. "How many more must die for the throne?"

The young High King, grimacing beneath his visor, countered, "Just one…" before he swiftly raised his sword to his left shoulder, overtop his shield, and swung a vicious-looking blow across his body from left to right, appearing to aim for Miraz's middle.

He let his sword drop minutely as Miraz boldly swung his own blade from right to left, following the arc of Peter's and attempting to push it out and open up Peter's torso to attack.

But Peter's initial strike had been a feint of sorts, and as Miraz's blade crossed in front of the Telmarine's chest to finish the block, Peter was already pivoting on his right foot and bringing his left leg around 180 degrees to bring him around behind Miraz.

With his sword back at his left side and across his body, Peter sliced up and diagonally to his right, glancing a blow off Miraz's back before the man could spin and bring his shield or sword to bear.

Knocked forward slightly by the blow to his back, Miraz growled and spun on his left foot, using his momentum to bring his right leg around while at the same time swinging his shield up and around to the left in a fast slash toward Peter's neck.

The dirty maneuver took Peter by surprise, but he quickly drew back his right leg and tilted a few inches further back and avoided the wild shield slash entirely.

Both fighters started circling again and Miraz was inwardly furious at himself for taking that dwarf's bait and thinking this mere boy would be a pushover. In a few short clashes, this child had already proven he had far more skill with a blade then the Telmarine King had thought.

Angered that he had already been one-upped by this boy, Miraz moved in and instead of striking a blow with his sword, he swung his left arm and shield toward Peter's head with such strength the young man was forced to block the blows with his own shield and retreat.

Seeing Peter was giving ground, Miraz continued to hammer the High King with his shield, every so often throwing in a slash with his sword for good measure.

Backpedaling under the vicious onslaught, Peter sensed he was getting too close to the edge of the ring, which was lined by ruined stones, and knew he would have to act – and soon – or he'd be up against the wall and in trouble.

Taking a chance, he moved to the left, leaving his back exposed for only a moment and hoping Miraz's forward motion would prevent him from being able to halt himself in time to strike at the High King.

His move proved successful as Miraz couldn't halt his advance in time and his backhanded slice toward Peter's retreating back missed the blonde by mere inches. Peter settled himself into a firm stance and locked gazes with Miraz, waiting for the man to make his move.

If he was going to buy some time, he might as well buy as much of it as he could.

Miraz chose to swing downward at Peter again, banking on his power whittling down the younger man's stamina, and Peter deflected and blocked the blows, but refused to give ground this time.

He brought Rhindon across his body and slashed back at Miraz from left to right, his sword clanging sharply with the Telmarine's. Miraz blocked with his own blade, then struck the Narnian King above the elbow and managed to lock out his sword arm. Peter was forced to turn his back toward the other King to avoid breaking his arm, and Miraz took this opportunity to swing his shield at the back of the young High King's head.

Stumbling forward as his helmet was knocked off, Peter quickly stepped forward and spun back around, only to have to duck under a sword slash aimed at taking his head off his shoulders.

While Peter was still down, Miraz wound up for a vicious right to left slash at the vulnerable High King, but Peter thwarted his attempt when he surged upward and flung himself into Miraz, slamming his shield into the Telmarine King's face, ripping the helmet from his head and knocking him back a step.

Peter's mail fell back onto his neck, leaving his blonde hair shining in the sunlight, as he teetered precariously for a moment and then backpedaled to put himself out of his opponent's range.

Seeing the Telmarine King still reeling and trying to regain his footing, Peter halted his backward motion and instead surged forward, slamming Miraz once more with his shield before slashing Rhindon from right to left toward Miraz's chest.

Only to miss.

Miraz took advantage of the miss and as the center of Peter's blade drew near Miraz's left hip, he slammed his shield into the High King's sharp blade and forced it back toward its owner, bringing it precariously close to one of Peter's legs.

Before Rhindon could hit him, Peter twisted his sword hand minutely and turned the tip of his blade downward, letting it slide off Miraz's shield and in a swift move, the High King slashed upward and sliced deeply into the Telmarine's thigh.

Miraz immediately dropped to one knee, wincing and instinctively clutching his wounded thigh with his shield hand, swinging his blade diagonally from left to right across his body to drive an advancing Peter back.

Gathering his strength, he pushed to his feet and swung out low with his shield, hitting the back of Peter's forward knee and knocking his foot out from under him. Peter, who had jumped away from the infuriated man's sword blow, completely missed the Telmarine's shield strike and before he could catch himself, he toppled backward and to the ground with a crash of armor on stone.

Momentarily winded and surprised by a sudden pain in the wound he'd received from the Witch, the High King wasn't able to move his splayed out shield arm before Miraz brought his foot down and deposited all his considerable weight on the shield, wrenching Peter's shoulder from the socket with a sharp pop and excruciating jolt of pain.

The High King couldn't hold back the cry and rolled instinctively toward his injured arm to try and release the pressure on the shoulder. He swung Rhindon across his body with all his strength to block Miraz's strike and the man, still standing on the shield, was overbalanced and fell away.

Stumbling to his feet, Peter felt his fingers going numb and his arm hung uselessly, shield still lashed to it. Panting against the pain, he held Rhindon firmly and waited while Miraz struggled to standing across from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, beyond Miraz, he noticed a horse and two riders galloping from the nearby woods onto the open field across which the two armies faced each other. Caspian was at the reins and Peter, faced scrunched in pain, turned his focus back to Miraz as the man, putting as little pressure on his leg as possible, taunted, "Does the High King need a respite?"

Peter's voice broke as he replied, "Five minutes?"

Not wanting to admit he was ailing, Miraz growled, "three" then turned and walked, stiffly but steadily back to his companions. Peter hesitated, the pain in his shoulder building by the second.

He relaxed only slightly when Edmund reached him and relieved a little of the pressure on the joint by holding up some of the weight of the shield as they walked back toward Glenstorm and the rapidly approaching horse and riders.

Seeing Susan and Caspian dismount, Peter's first reaction was to hide his pain, followed closely by a question: "Where's Lucy?"

Susan frowned. "She made it through. I had to stay behind to fend off attackers. Caspian came along in the nick of time, I wouldn't have been so lucky if he hadn't of shown up."

Peter nodded, gulping back pain, before turning to the prince. "Thank you," he said; his voice heavy with emotion. The High King let out a sharp yelp and jerked away as Edmund touched his shoulder. Susan grimaced and stepped forward, but her older brother held up a shaking hand and halted her. "You better get up there with the archers, Su. I don't expect the Telmarines to keep their word and we'll need you."

He shot a quick glance at Miraz, who was sitting heavily in a chair with a man tending his leg wound. Susan came forward instead of back and drew him into a hug, careful not to jostle him too much, but still sending a shot of pain across his chest from his shoulder injury.

"Sorry, Peter," she said, drawing back. "Please be careful. I don't want to lose you again." Memories of the time they thought Peter dead flashed before her and Edmund's eyes, and they exchanged glances.

Their brother shook his head. "How many times do I have to tell you two, I'm not going anywhere," he said with a small, pained smile. Susan nodded and turned to run back to the How and join the archers as Edmund sobered and eyed the Narnians.

"Pete? Keep smiling. The Narnians are looking a bit worried," he said, pointing with his eyes toward the How. "I think they saw that shield stomp and realize something's amiss."

In response, Peter gathered himself and raised Rhindon in the air with a fake smile plastered on his face. It was more like a grimace, and he was grating his teeth together, but from afar it appeared to do the trick and the Narnians let out a roar of excitement.

Peter quickly dropped the sword and allowed Caspian to help him sit down. He cried out again and shied away as the prince removed the shield from his arm. "Sorry," Caspian said as he stepped back and let Edmund approach Peter.

The latter turned his gaze up to his brother and sighed. "I think it's dislocated, Ed," he said wearily. "I felt it pop." He winced as Edmund gently felt the back of his shoulder and knew when the boy frowned that it was indeed dislocated.

As Edmund gripped his arm just above the elbow and steadied him, Peter closed his eyes and gulped. "On three," Ed said. "One…two…"

Peter screeched and then turned a glare on Edmund, who had jerked his shoulder back into place on two, not three. When the pain in his shoulder really didn't lessen, he swallowed and groaned, "I wonder what happens back home if you die here." He looked up at Edmund. "There are far too many things I want to say to you, Ed," he whispered, eyes betraying his thoughts.

Defeat was something Edmund rarely, if ever, saw in his brother's eyes and yet here, during what could be the biggest, hardest and most important fight of his life, it came breaking through. Edmund couldn't let it happen.

He forced Peter's shield back onto his arm, somewhat angrily. "Save it for later, Peter. Because there will be a later, and we'll sit back and laugh about all the stupid moves you made in your duel."

"Hey, I didn't make stupid moves," Peter said indignantly as he grasped Rhindon from his brother's outstretched hand. "But Edmund…should anything happen, I hope you know how much I love you."

Edmund growled. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that, Peter, you'll just have to tell me later."

Peter groaned inwardly. Edmund was being difficult. Here he was, arm smarting painfully, body trembling and life on the line, and Ed wouldn't let him tie up loose ends. There was only one thing to do then – survive the duel and tell him later.

Stepping forward, Peter entered the ring again, refusing his reclaimed helmet with a weary shake of the head, and gazing across the field of battle at Miraz's expression, which was tight with pain. At least he wasn't the only one injured here.

His gaze traveled further to take in the Telmarines who had accompanied Miraz and his brow furrowed at the whispered conversation going on amongst them, complete with the man who had tended Miraz shaking his head vehemently in the negative.

The interplay had not gone unnoticed by Edmund, Caspian or Glenstorm either and as Peter and Miraz reengaged with a clang of metal on metal, Caspian turned to Edmund.

"They are planning something," he said ominously. "And if General Glozelle does not approve, I would venture to guess it is something dishonorable. If there was one thing he did not abide by, it was dishonor in combat."

Edmund watched as Peter raised his shield and deflected a particularly hard strike from Miraz that had the young King wincing and nearly dropping to one knee in pain. That shoulder was going to be a problem.

Peter would have to agree as the next harsh blow that he was forced to block with his shield did send him crashing to his knees in pain. As Miraz moved to bring his sword down on the High King, Peter struck out with the hilt of Rhindon and sent it smashing into Miraz's leg wound, abruptly halting the man's strike as the Telmarine King reeled away gasping for breath against the pain.

Peter struggled to get his feet under him, shield arm dangling. When he was standing again, Miraz had recovered enough to come at him again, swinging his blade haphazardly in his pain and fury.

Ducking to the left, Peter thrust Rhindon forward, aiming to strike just below the armor chest plate Miraz wore. His aim was deflected downward and to the left just enough to miss Miraz and the man brought his shield crashing on Peter's forearm with enough force that the young man lost his grip on Rhindon and it went crashing to the ground.

Grasping his shield with both hands, Peter warded off two-handed sword strikes as he retreated until his back was against a stone pillar that had cracked off at the top and was rough against his back.

When Miraz shifted from overhead blows to a thrust, Peter sidestepped and the blade tip wedged into the column behind him. The Telmarine King tugged harshly on the stuck blade and his eyes narrowed in fury.

Peter took advantage of the surprise and swung his shield at Miraz, hitting him soundly on the head and shoulder and knocking him to the ground. He surged forward and reclaimed Rhindon, raising it out to the side and turning with the intent to end this before he was killed.

He was shocked when he was suddenly knocked backwards and to the ground by something that slammed into his chest with such force it knocked all the air from his lungs and left him gasping for breath.

There were gasps from the Narnians and a sharp cry of disbelief from Edmund on the sidelines. Peter, confused by what had happened, made to push up from the ground but quickly fell back down when pain surged through his chest, originating in his left shoulder but radiating outward.

He chanced a look and his eyes widened at the sight of a crossbow bolt protruding from where the pain was most intense, just inside of where his shoulder armor ended. His focus shifted when Miraz stumbled into view, poised over top of him with his sword held high and a feral grin on his pained face.

"I win, High King Peter. Narnia will never rise again."

Anger surged through Peter and gave him just enough strength to roll to the left and avoid the Telmarine King's falling blade, which clattered against the stone beneath them. Wincing, Peter, being careful not to impale himself on Rhindon, rolled until his feet were under him and then he stood, shaking in anger and pain.

His shoulders were hunched and his left arm held tight against his body, but his grip on Rhindon was firm. Both Kings stood facing one another, both with only swords, one with a bleeding leg and one with a bleeding shoulder.

Miraz's gaze shifted to his corner and his men. Glozelle was being held at sword point by Sobespian, obviously not happy with the turn of events. Another man was holding a reloaded crossbow pointed menacingly at the High King of Narnia.

Peter knew he couldn't deflect an arrow, so he turned to Miraz. "So this is what is comes down to ... The great Telmarine King has to resort to cheating to beat a boy half his age," he said, breathing harsh and labored. "I'm sure that will garner the support of your people."

Miraz's eyes narrowed. "They'll never know," he said, gesturing for the man with the crossbow to release the second bolt. Peter waited for the pain of a shot, but it never came. Instead, the man toppled to the ground, a red-fletched arrow in his chest.

Susan, panting from the run, stood beside the ring just behind a fuming Edmund and Caspian. Glenstorm actually had a restraining hand on her shoulder, or she would have been at Peter's side.

Stuck where she was, but still highly angered, she spat, "If you desire to shoot arrows around, why didn't you invite me? Or are you afraid of a 15-year-old girl, as well?"

Peter couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face.

Beyond the ring, both the Narnian and the Telmarine armies were watching with confusion at the halt in the duel. Neither could properly make out what had happened, though there were murmurings of treachery among the Narnians after seeing King Peter fall without being touched by Miraz.

The Narnian High King hunched a little further as pain ripped through his shoulder. "We are at an impasse, Lord Miraz," he said. "If your men try to cheat again, my royal sister will not hesitate to shoot them where they stand. Are you man enough to finish this?"

Edmund cried out, "Peter?" drawing his brother's attention. "What are you doing?" he seethed. "You can barely stand."

The eldest Pevensie nodded. "I know. But I will continue this fight with honor and that means continuing it myself. I'll see this through to the end, whatever that might be. I would ask for a five-minute respite, though, to remove this." He gestured with Rhindon toward his shoulder.

Angry beyond belief, Miraz could do nothing but nod. The dark-haired man stormed, as best as one can with a slice to their thigh, back to his corner where he proceeded to soundly berate Glozelle.

Peter hobbled to his own side and was immediately set upon by Edmund. "By the lion, Peter, this is deep," the younger boy said, fingering where the crossbow bolt was imbedded in Peter's shoulder. "I think it'll have to go through."

"I was afraid of that," the High King muttered before nodding and leaning forward. Gesturing for Caspian's help, Edmund pulled off Peter's shoulder armor and carefully slipped the chain mail shirt over the arrow shaft and then over Peter's head, drawing a cry from the elder King.

Clad in a white under tunic, with the shaft still sticking out from a rapidly growing red stain, Peter shook and held up a hand so that Edmund would stop for a moment and let him catch his breath.

When he nodded again, Edmund gripped him much like Peter had done to Caspian in the woods. The Telmarine prince realized why Peter had known immediately what to do – the brothers had done this before.

There was a loud cry as Edmund forced the arrow through Peter's shoulder. Caspian, ready with a knife, loped off the arrowhead and the Just King pulled the shaft out and tossed it aside to grip both wounds.

"Easy, Pete," he whispered as the elder boy gasped for air and clenched his teeth and eyes shut. "You don't have to do this, Peter," he continued, nearly begging. "We'll think no less of you if you bow out."

Caspian knew Peter's answer before he gave it, and he assumed Edmund likely did too.

"No, Ed. I _will_ finish this. If only to show the Telmarines what kind of King they _could _have." His gaze shifted to lock with Caspian's. He saw something in his eyes that he hadn't seen before – royal bearing. He wondered at it, but would have to deal with it later as his five minutes were up.

Edmund hastily secured a bandage around Peter's wound and slipped the chain mail back over his head. He secured the shoulder armor, drawing a wince from his brother, and then the older King stood up somewhat shakily. He met Susan's eyes and nodded his thanks to her for avoiding a second injury before stepping back into the ring.

He glanced at his brother, who was holding out his shield. Reaching out, he grasped it, but when Edmund released his hold, Peter had to bite back a cry and the shield clattered to the ground. Peter shook his head slowly from side to side. "I can't hold it, Ed," he said. "I'll have to go without."

Edmund looked like he wanted to argue, but if Peter couldn't hold it –there was nothing to be done for it. Ripping his gaze from his younger brother's, Peter stepped back into the ring.

Miraz wavered before also returning to the field of battle.

Raising his sword in front of him, Peter had the strength of character to offer another small salute – even after everything that had happened and the Telmarine's treachery, he still stuck to honorable combat.

Showing his true colors, Miraz launched himself at Peter before the latter was finished with his salute – bringing his blade down in a vicious downward strike that forced Peter to jump awkwardly to the right and slash out with Rhindon to deflect the arcing blade away from him.

There was a wave of protesting cries from the Narnians assembled around the How at the Telmarine King's blatant disrespect for the rules of an honorable contest, but none of them could do a thing about it but hope their High King could win this fight.

Peter, regained his balance quickly, and brought Rhindon up across his chest and slashed outward at Miraz's head. Instead of blocking, the man ducked and swung his own blade low, swiping at Peter's legs and forcing the younger King to jump to the left and land hard on his wounded shoulder.

Barely stifling a cry of pain, Peter grit his teeth nearly hard enough to break them, and then rolled when Miraz attacked him again, swinging down on the High King's fallen form. Each time his shoulder connected with the ground, Peter's breath caught and he knew he needed to get to his feet before the pain overwhelmed him.

Deciding enough was enough, he surprised the man by switching directions and rolling _towards_ him, knocking the Telmarine King's legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground.

Both combatants staggered to their feet and exchanged sword blows, Peter forced to move twice as fast since he had no shield to ward off the other man's blows and had to rely on deflecting and dodging the strikes.

With one particularly strong swing, Peter surprised even himself when he knocked Miraz's blade from his hands, leaving the man with only his shield. Before he could take advantage of the stroke of luck, Miraz lashed out desperately and, using his shield, smashed Rhindon out of Peter's hands.

The Telmarine brought his shield back around, but Peter grabbed on and managed to twist it out of Miraz's hands, leaving both combatants weaponless and panting in pain, frustration and exhaustion.

Miraz threw himself at Peter, hoping to win by brute strength, but Peter sidestepped and lashed out with his armored shin – straight into Miraz's solar plexus – and knocked the wind out of his opponent.

Collapsing to the ground, holding onto his middle, Miraz looked up at Peter as the young King, Rhindon once again in hand, placed himself above him and poised the glistening sword for the death blow.

But Peter didn't strike.

Sneering, Miraz taunted the young King. "Too cowardly to take a life, boy?"

Peter lowered Rhindon and lifted his chin. "As much as I would dearly like to have this honor, your life isn't mine to take. There is another who you've wronged even more greatly than I."

Shifting, but not leaving Miraz uncovered, Peter extended the hilt of Rhindon toward Caspian. Wordlessly offering him a chance to do what he had so sorely wanted to do within his uncle's chamber a few nights ago.

Caspian slowly approached, eying Rhindon with no small amount of trepidation. But while last time he had felt nothing when he reached for Rhindon, this time he felt a draw and he extended his hand and lightly gripped the hilt.

There was no jolt of pain, no burning sensation.

Eying Peter's weary form, Caspian nodded and tightened his grip on the great sword.

Peter retreated to his brother's side and let himself lean heavily on the younger King as the Pevensies, the Narnians and the Telmarines watched the young man and his uncle. Inwardly, Peter knew Caspian would make the right choice. He wouldn't have been able to touch Rhindon if that wasn't the case.

The two men exchanged words, though no one but they themselves could hear what was said. With a shout filled with pain and anguish, Caspian slammed Rhindon's tip into a patch of dirt in front of Miraz and leaned close to his uncle.

"Keep your life," he whispered. "But I am giving the Narnians back their lands and the kingdom." Lifting his gaze, he met that of his old teacher and the man nodded in respect to the prince.

Caspian wrenched Rhindon from the ground and turned back to his companions, leaving Miraz kneeling in defeat. He heard Sobespian moving to collect his lord as he reached Peter and extended Rhindon hilt-first to the young King.

"Thank you," he said. "That was something I had to do."

Nodding, Peter gripped the sword and then returned his gaze to Miraz when the man let out a great cry of pain. Brows furrowed, he took in the red-fletched arrow protruding from the man's back as he fell forward to the ground and did not move.

Turning to Susan, he saw her eyes wide in shock, but her bow was across her back, not drawn. She had not shot the Telmarine King. So who had done it?

Peter's head snapped back to the ring as Sobespian cried "treachery" and grabbed Miraz's sword before running back toward the Telmarine lines, shouting, "Telmar, to arms!"

Swallowing, Peter glanced at Susan and mouthed, "Lucy?"

But his sister could only shake her head no.

Turning to Caspian, he shouted, "Go," and louder, called out, "Be ready!"

Edmund, meanwhile, met an oncoming Telmarine, slashing swiftly with his two blades and beheading the man in seconds. He turned back to Peter and watched his brother sway a little before gathering himself and squaring his shoulders.

"Will you be all right?" He asked as he placed himself beside him.

Peter looked at his younger brother and sighed. "I'll have to be. We still have a conversation we need to have about what you mean to me."

Edmund managed a small smile, despite the fact an army twice as strong was now marching down on them with no desire for prisoners or surrender on their minds. "For Narnia?" He said quietly.

The High King nodded. "And for Aslan."

_A/N: Well, I think that was like 13 pages of duel! Review please?? Pretty please?_


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I know, I know, I broke my pattern of an update every night. I was busy, busy, busy and on top of it, had two sick kids! But, here is an update for you! Hope you enjoy it! Lemme know if you like it, yes, I'm shamelessly asking for reviews! Thanks to Phoenixqueen, again, for staying up to 2:30 a.m. with me to get this chapter out..._

**Part Fifteen:**

Caspian thrust his foot into Realeza's stirrup and vaulted onto the horse's back.

Urging her forward, he took off down the tunnels leading to the back passage that Lucy and Susan had taken early that morning in their quest to find Aslan. Something had been nagging at him, telling him he needed to go to their aid, and he was glad that King Peter had whole-heartedly agreed.

_The surprise of seeing Peter standing was slow to wear off as Caspian set about helping the High King don his armor, his movements mechanical from years of practice putting on his own._

_As he aided the young King in adjusting the chain mail into place, he couldn't help but voice the question that had been on his lips since he'd walked in to see the eldest Pevensie standing with a smile on his face._

"_King Peter? How is this possible? Did your royal sister's cordial suddenly work?" Caspian said, stooping to pick up the next piece of armor. "I am still unable to believe your miraculous recovery."_

_Peter's smile was laced with an undertone of seriousness. "It was Aslan. He came to me, in a dream, I now see. That's why I reacted the way I did when you came in; I didn't think it was real at first. I don't really know how he did it, but I know it was he who healed me. And right now, that's enough for me. "_

_Nodding, but not really comprehending since he had never seen the power of Aslan in person, Caspian instead changed the subject._

"_I've been worried about Queens Susan and Lucy. I wish to take a horse and ride out, in case they need help. The woods are full of Telmarine soldiers and while I know Queen Susan has impeccable skill with a bow, she would be sorely outnumbered."_

_Peter looked up as he grabbed his helmet from the ledge beside him. "I think that is a good idea," he said, sticking the helmet under his arm and turning to fully face Caspian. "I would welcome your help when I cannot go to their aid myself."_

_Caspian bowed lightly, taking in the sight of the High King of Narnia, standing erect and proud in armor emblazoned with the golden lion's effigy. He looked every inch like the legend he was in that moment._

"_Good luck to you, King Peter," Caspian said. "May you fare well against my uncle."_

_Peter smiled and nodded his thanks before turning on his heel and all but running from the chamber to catch Edmund before he reached the field of combat. _

_The dark-haired prince turned deeper into the caverns and made for Realeza, since he'd sent Lucy and Susan off on Desiree. He could only pray he would not be too late if they did run into resistance, as he feared._

Galloping through the trees now, Caspian leaned forward and lightly apologized as he pushed the horse beneath him to move even faster. They were moving so quickly through the woods that the prince was hard pressed to avoid being hit by low-hanging branches and kept low to the horse's neck in hopes that she, at least, would be able to avoid doing so.

For long minutes, there was no sign of Susan and Lucy, only a trail of disturbed ground where Desiree had galloped through earlier. He was beginning to lose hope when, over the thundering of the horse's hooves, he heard the telltale sounds of fighting.

Bursting through a dense section of brush, Caspian took in the scene quickly – Susan had fallen and was being advanced upon by two Telmarine soldiers, one on horseback and another stalking toward her on the ground, both with swords drawn and ready for attack.

Without hesitation, he ripped his own blade from its sheath and intercepted the rider, one-handedly striking at the man's back before the Telmarine even realized the prince had arrived.

Turning his attention to the second soldier, he leaped from the horse's back onto the ground just as the Telmarine raised his blade up and to the left, prepared to slice Susan across the chest.

She held her bow up in front of her, and though stout, it would not hold up against a full-powered broadsword strike. Still, she was prepared to try. As the sword swung, Caspian stepped forward, front knee bent, and thrust his own sword forward, catching the Telmarine's blade atop it before it reached Susan.

The metal on metal broke the silence of the woods with a loud, bone-jarring clang.

The muscles in Caspian's arms trembled with the effort to hold his blade up and away from Susan and for a moment, he thought they would fail him, but the Telmarine, surprised by his sudden appearance, broke off the attack and regrouped.

Caspian could hear Susan scramble to her feet behind him, and inwardly wondered where Lucy was, as he stood awaiting the soldier's attack. He couldn't tell if the man hesitated because he recognized Caspian, or if he was unsure of whether or not to run and try to bring aid.

It turned out to be the latter as the man spun around and darted for the nearby, now riderless, steed of his dead companion. Caspian made to follow, but halted when a red-fletched arrow flew just past his head – close enough to ruffle his hair, he'd later swear – and impacted solidly with the retreating soldier's back.

The arrow pierced his heart and he was dead before he hit the ground.

Turning around, Caspian smiled faintly as Susan lowered her bow with a small frown. "That was too close for comfort," she said, breathing still slightly rushed from the fight and the fading adrenaline. "I'm glad you arrived when you did. I was beginning to think this would be my end."

She hurried toward Realeza, glancing sadly into the nearby woods. "I sent Lucy on ahead and I doubt that we could find her now. We will have to have faith that she will be all right, and that she will find Aslan quickly." Twisting her head around, she eyed Caspian. "Well, aren't you coming? There is still a How to protect…"

Chuckling, Caspian hurried over and mounted Realeza before offering a hand down to Susan. "Yes, your highness, of course." As soon as she was seated behind him, Caspian nudged Realeza into a full-out gallop and they barreled back toward the How, drawing further and further from the youngest Queen with every stride the horse took.

* * *

Queen Lucy the Valiant clutched Desiree's reins with such force, her knuckles were white and her hands aching. It wasn't because she feared falling from the horse – it was the only thing keeping her from yanking back on them, turning the horse around, and returning to help Susan.

She had faith in her sister's fighting prowess, but she was mentally berating herself for not being able to help her anyway. It had long been a peeve of Lucy's that as the youngest monarch she couldn't ride to battle to protect her siblings. She understood that it was safer this way, and she truly didn't wish to kill anyone, battle or no, but she felt so helpless tucked safely away.

While far from tucked away right now, she still felt she was running away and leaving her brothers and sister to defend Narnia.

"Oh stop it, Lu," she muttered as Desiree jumped over a fallen log and she tightened her legs around the horse to stay atop. "This _is_ important and this _is_ defending Narnia. Just not with a sword or a bow."

Shaking her head, she allowed her thoughts to drift some, though still keeping a sharp eye on her surroundings in case of another attack.

_The horse galloping beneath them and the wind whipping by made conversation difficult, but Lucy couldn't help but get a few thoughts off her mind as she and Susan raced away from the How in search of Aslan._

"_Su?!" she called out, leaning as close to her sister's ear as she could. Receiving a loud, "What?" in response, she continued, "Do you think Ed had to fight? I don't know if he could win and it frightens me."_

_Susan didn't answer for a moment. "I don't know, Lu. I wish neither had to fight, but of the two, I hope it's Peter. I have to believe it's Peter." She paused before adding, "Aslan knows what he is doing. I have to believe that." _

_Even though she had said it, Lucy couldn't help but hear the doubt in her sister's voice. As if she was wavering in her faith in Aslan. Deciding to put on her "morale-boosting hat" as Edmund liked to call it, she squeezed Susan into a hug and called out, "I'm sure Aslan will have helped Peter, Su. I just know it."_

_There was no response from Susan and for a few minutes, they rode in silence. Then it was Susan who chimed in with a question. "Do you really think we'll find him, Lucy? The forest is so big, and he hasn't come yet. Only in your dream."_

_Lucy pulled herself as snug against Susan as she could and leaned toward her ear again. "We _will _find him, Susan. My heart tells me so. My heart never lies."_

_They lapsed into silence again, each lost in thoughts of their brothers. Either one could be fighting a duel to the death right this second and they wouldn't even know if he had been hurt or killed._

_A battle could be raging at the How, Narnians fighting and dying by the dozen, and they wouldn't even know it. One girl's faith in Aslan was firm, and she was able to push aside her fear for her brothers. The other's was fluttering like the breeze around them and her heart ached at the thought of losing either Edmund or Peter. Or both._

_Squeezing her eyes shut, Susan silently issued a prayer to Aslan, even though she wasn't so sure he was listening to her. _Please protect them, Aslan. I couldn't bear to lose either of my brothers. If it is in your power, please protect them while I cannot.

_Lucy was about to strike up another talk with Susan when her eyes drifted to their left and out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a horse and rider galloping parallel to her and her sister._

"_Susan! They've seen us!" she cried out, tightening her hold on Susan as more riders appeared on the other side, gaining quickly. Susan urged Desiree to move faster and the horse proved her worth as she drew away from their pursuers._

_Once they had gotten far enough ahead, Susan yanked back on Desiree's reins and drew the horse to an abrupt halt, sending Lucy's slighter form smacking into her back. As soon as the younger girl was steady, Susan drew her leg over the horse and slid off._

"_Susan?" Lucy questioned, instinctively slipping forward to place herself in the proper riding position. "What are you doing? We have to keep going."_

_Tugging the reins from where she had dropped them, Susan thrust them into her sister's hands. "I'm afraid this is my stop, Lu." she said. "You'll have to go on alone from here. I know you can do this, Lucy. Something tells me you're the only one who can."_

_For a moment, Susan thought Lucy would refuse to leave. But she watched as the nine-year-old's eyes seemed to age and fill with wisdom beyond her years. Queen Lucy the Valiant was shining through and Lucy straightened in the saddle._

"_I don't want to leave you, Susan, but you're right. This is something I must do and I feel I must do it alone. I…I think I can be brave enough." Her hand unconsciously gripped the hilt of her small dagger. "You be careful. I can't lose you."_

_Susan gripped Lucy's hand and tugged it off the dagger. "You too, Lucy. I would never forgive myself if you were hurt because I let you go on alone." She hesitated a second more, the approaching horses dangerously close. "May Aslan protect you."_

_Lucy's eyes shifted back to her younger expression. "And you. And he will be, Su."_

_Susan slapped Desiree on the right flank and the horse leapt forward. Lucy clung to the reins and leaned forward as the horse ran. Atop a rise in the hill, she stopped and turned back toward Susan._

_Her sister had adopted her usual practice stance and had an arrow notched on her bowstring. She glanced back and met Lucy's gaze before turning toward the approaching riders._

_Lucy nudged Desiree forward and rode for all she was worth. Rode for Susan. For Edmund. For Peter. And for Narnia. She _had_ to find Aslan. And she had to do it fast._

"You there! Stop at once!"

Lucy's head jerked up and she looked to the left. Telmarine soldiers were riding swiftly toward her, two with drawn swords, one with a cross bow. With only a small dagger, she was no match for them.

Shaking, the young Queen drew the horse to a halt. A crossbow bolt to the back would seriously hinder her chances of finding Aslan. So would being captured, but of the two, the latter was slightly more agreeable.

"Please, sir, I've only a small dagger. I can do you no harm," she said quietly, sitting motionless in the saddle. Even though her mind was older, her body was nine and she could hoped to use that to her advantage. Maybe if they thought she was a harmless child, they would leave her be.

"Get down from there, girl," a Telmarine said, dismounting and holding a crossbow aimed at Lucy.

Shifting slowly, she did as he requested and slid off Desiree's back. The man moved close and appeared to look her over before calling out to one of the two others who had intercepted her.

"She looks human. King Miraz ordered us to be on the lookout for humans, so we best bring her in," he said, turning back to Lucy. "Unless you're some other weird Narnian beast? Something that looks human but isn't? Then we can just kill you, I suppose."

Lucy glared at him. "Narnians aren't beasts, you are," she said. "I'm not the full grown man aiming an arrow at a child." Her voice was stronger now, angry that these men could think of all Narnians as beasts. Sure, they didn't much about them because the history had been suppressed, but anyone who automatically assumed that things unknown were bad was just plain naïve.

"I've heard Narnians used to come in the night and snatch kids from their beds and then feed them to their friends during big banquets in the forest," the man said, leaning close to Lucy. "That's the mark of beasts."

Lucy huffed, "Well, you've heard wrong," she said. "Narnians are nothing like that. Sure, we had grand feasts at Cair Paravel, but there was dining and dancing and we never ate children."

"Enough!" A second man called. "Let's get her to the captain. Let him figure out what to do with her."

The third man reached forward to take hold of Lucy, but before his hand connected with her arm, an arrow connected with his chest and his eyes widened in disbelief. Lucy screamed when he fell forward, taking her to the ground with him.

Two more well-placed arrows flew into the remaining Telmarines as Lucy pushed the dead soldier off her legs and scrambled backwards on her hands and feet until her back slammed into two sturdy legs.

"Susan!" She cried, turning.

She froze.

It wasn't Susan.

"W…what are you…why?"

Kicking out, the werewolf knocked Lucy away from his legs and growled. "We wanted the honor of killing you ourselves, _Queen_ Lucy," he hissed. From behind him, lowering his crossbow, Nikabrik added, "It will be such a wonderful bit of payback, don't you think? Your brother, Edmund the _Just,_ will never forgive himself. It was his recommendation we be exiled, which is how we come to be in this Telmarine infested wood. And how we come to be _here_ to kill _you._"

Nikabrik pulled the blade from his side and sidled closer. "So much more personal, a sword," he said, brandishing it in front of the frozen young girl. "Do say hello to all the Narnians who are going to die because of your brothers' foolhardy leadership."

The sword rose.

"There will only be two deaths here, and neither will be Queen Lucy's."

With an almighty roar, a golden body leapt from the nearby wood and tackled Nikabrik to the ground, large paws crushing down on the dwarf's chest. "Look away, child," the lion said quietly. "This is no sight for your eyes."

Lucy obliged and quivered when she heard the distinctive sound of Nikabrik, and immediately after, the werewolf, being ushered on to the next world.

"Dear one, you may look."

Aslan, coat glistening in the light streaming through the trees, stood before Lucy and looked at her with love and warmth.

"Oh Aslan!" She cried, lunging forward on her knees to wrap her arms around the great lion's neck. "I've missed you! We were beginning to think you wouldn't be able to help us this time when you didn't come. Peter and I argued and it was horrible and he was hurt and later, he said he believed me and I should go to find you and so here I am and I'm so glad I found you!"

There was a rumbling chuckle. "Slow down, dear one, you are making very little sense."

Lucy gulped and then chuckled through her tears of joy and relief. "I'm sorry, Aslan. I was so scared when Nikabrik and the werewolf were going to kill me, I just so glad to see you."

She paused, leaning back and looking up at him.

"You know, Aslan, you seem bigger than I remember…"

He laughed. "That is because you are older, little one."

"Not because you are?" She questioned, cocking her head to the side. "I mean, they told us it was 1,300 years since we left Narnia."

He shook his head, mane rippling. "I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger." Aslan gestured for her to stand. "It is well that you have come, dear one. For I can only give aid where aid is asked for. Your brother Peter learned that the hard way, I fear. But at least he learned it."

Lucy frowned, walking beside Aslan now. "What do you mean?"

He didn't turn toward her, but answered. "You will see when you are meant to see."

"I don't remember you being so cryptic last time, Aslan," she muttered with a small smile. "Will you help us? Against the Telmarines?"

The great lion stopped and turned his head toward the young Queen. "I will. Come, you must ride on my back. We have little time. The great duel is ended and the Narnians will need us soon." She climbed atop his back and he said in warning, "Now, we run to the aid of our Narnia."

* * *

Susan knew they were getting closer to the How because she could hear the roar of the two assembled armies as one or the other King landed a shot – or missed one landing on them. She cringed at the thought of her baby brother fighting against that man.

The horse burst through the trees about 100 feet from the stone ruins outside the entrance to the How and Susan leaned around Caspian's shoulder, anxious to see her brother and be sure for herself that he was all right.

As she was tilting sideways, a cry of pain erupted from one of the combatants – the one she sees on the ground whose arm had just been jerked roughly from the socket. The one wearing a red tunic, emblazoned with a lion.

The one with … blonde hair?

"Peter?" Susan whispered, eyes latched on her brother's pained expression as he swung a blow with Rhindon that knocked Miraz off balance, and off his shield, giving him a chance to stumble to his feet, arm dangling.

Peter. On his feet.

"Oh Aslan," she whispered, so shocked to see her brother standing that she nearly let go of Caspian to cover her gasp of surprise and had to jerk her hands back and clutch his armor before she fell.

As Caspian drew Realeza to a halt behind Edmund and Glenstorm, Susan wasted no time in sliding off the horse's back and staring wide-eyed at her brother as he held in another wince and then watched Miraz limp back to his side of the ring.

Peter's face was tight as Edmund met him and guided him back to the side, lightly helping the elder Pevensie relieve the weight on his injured shoulder. She schooled her features quickly, not wanting to show any sign of anything amiss, and when Peter asked about Lucy, she quickly related what happened.

Inside, her stomach was still recovering from the jolt of seeing Peter in the ring and she wanted nothing more than to jump and shout for joy at his miraculous recovery; to bombard him with questions about when and how it had happened.

Instead, she nodded when he told her she ought to join the archers, and had to content herself with a short, light hug that still drew a pained grunt from her brother. "Sorry, Peter," she said, trying to load an apology for the pain she'd caused, and an apology that he was once again forced to fight, all into that one, short phrase.

He might have understood the deeper meaning, he might not have, but she didn't have a chance to think on it as she turned and ran toward the How to position herself on the ledge above the entrance, beside Trumpkin.

"Gee, I can see loads from up here," she grumbled, gripping her bow in one hand as she stood at the edge of the ledge and gazed toward the decidedly too small figure of her brother reentering the ring.

Trumpkin raised an eyebrow and looked up at her. "Maybe you should be thankful for that, Queen Susan. Duels and battles are ugly affairs."

He was stumped when Susan suddenly laughed.

"What did I say?" Trumpkin muttered with a frown.

The Gentle Queen looked at him and smiled. "Just something I heard many years ago from someone else. He didn't direct it to me; instead, he gave me these." She gestured to her bow and arrows.

Her attention was diverted abruptly when an angry chorus went up from the Narnians assembled around her and Trumpkin. Gazing back at the field, she could make out Peter on the ground and wondered how he had gotten there.

Cursing herself for not paying attention, she saw him attempt to rise and collapse back down. Was it his shoulder? Had he been hurt again? What was going on? "What happened?" she addressed the Faun next to her.

He turned toward her, frowning. "It looks like someone outside the ring attacked King Peter. He fell without being touched by the Telmarine King, your highness."

Susan gasped and spun back to the field of combat to see Peter standing and facing a Telmarine with a crossbow aimed directly at his chest. Her brother was hunched and favoring his left shoulder again. She couldn't tell where he had been hurt, but it looked like he had been.

The Telmarine's intentions were clear and Susan, incensed by their audacity, notched an arrow to her bowstring and let it loose in one swift, graceful movement. The red-fletched arrow arced across the wide span and struck true, killing the man who would dare attack her brother.

Without another word, she tore off into the How, out the front entrance and across the field until she reached the stone ruins and was restrained by Glenstorm. Before she could stop herself, she scathingly rebuked the Telmarines for their treachery.

She saw Peter grin slightly at her words and then realized it wasn't proper form for a Queen and she slipped a firm, but decidedly neutral expression onto her face, keeping a hand on her bow and an arrow close at hand, just in case they tried it again.

A small bit of pride jolted through her when Peter warned the men that she would be watching his back, but it was quickly replaced with a surge of concern and fear when she realized Peter intended to go on with the duel in his condition.

Edmund voiced her fears for her when he questioned their brother, but like Edmund, she knew Peter's answer before he gave it. More than ever, she wanted to whisk him away from here – even if she had to whisk him all the way back to England .

She held her breath while Peter asked for a respite to deal with what she now saw was an arrow protruding from his previously dislocated shoulder. When it was granted, she watched him approach the sidelines, but stayed back as Edmund immediately set upon their older brother like a mother-hen.

Susan wanted to go over and hug Peter and drag him away, so she stood her ground. If she moved to him, she wouldn't be able to contain her emotions and she had to, for Narnia and for Peter. It wouldn't do for her to get hysterical and distract him from what he had to do.

When Edmund forced the arrow through the back of Peter's shoulder, she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and barely managed to hold in her gasp at the sudden flare of pain and taste of blood.

She heard Edmund tell Peter they'd think no less of him if he bowed out and in her head was chanting for him to just do it. Bow out. Avoid more pain. More fighting. More chances to die.

Of course she would never voice it, and he would never do it.

She actually took a minute step forward as Ed handed Peter his shield and her older brother strangled off a cry as he dropped it to the stones with a loud clatter. As he shook his head and said he couldn't hold it, her heart sped up. Without a shield, he would have to be twice as fast – and with his shoulder wound, he'd be lucky if he could be as fast as normal, let alone faster.

Releasing a long, steadying breath, she watched Peter salute the Telmarine King, and then fairly growled when the man launched an attack before Peter had completed the act of honor.

She'd actually taken a step forward and only a glare from Edmund stopped her from taking yet another in her anger at the man.

When Peter was forced to jump away from a swipe to his legs, and landed on his wounded shoulder, Susan cringed along with him and swallowed the large lump forming in her throat. He stomach was flipping as he rolled away, each roll undoubtedly causing more pain.

_Please end soon, please end soon. I don't know how much more he can take, _she thought to herself as Peter managed to roll and knock Miraz to the ground. She watched with growing unease as the fight continued until suddenly, somehow, neither King held a weapon and faced each other, panting and in pain, with nothing more than bare hands.

Her mind screamed in relief when Peter, with a well-placed kick, knocked his opponent to his knees and the man did not rise. Her brother reclaimed his sword and held his foe at bay and Susan let herself close her eyes in brief thanks.

When she opened them, Peter was looking to Caspian, holding his sword out.

She frowned at that, uncertain what he was hoping to do here, but when Caspian stepped forward and was able to grasp the sword, her eyes widened. She remembered the prophecy then. "_When He can wield the blade, He shall bring balance to all_."

When had they given Caspian his gifts, she wondered to herself. She surely would have remembered giving him something – unless it was something immaterial, something learned, not physically given.

There would be time to think on it later.

The duel undoubtedly finished, Susan slung her bow across her back and watched Peter lean heavily on Edmund as Caspian spared his uncle's life. She grinned lightly to Glenstorm, happy that Peter had triumphed, but still somewhat wary that the Telmarines would not be true to their word.

She turned away from the Centaur when there were gasps from Peter, Edmund and Caspian. Following their gaze, she looked to find Miraz, an arrow – one of _her_ arrows – in his back.

Peter met her shocked eyes and as things suddenly erupted into chaos and the Telmarine lord who had accompanied Miraz ran off shouting treachery, she glanced around hoping to see Lucy and Aslan come to save the day.

When Peter mouthed "Lucy" to her, she could only shake her head. There was no sign of their baby sister.

Pulling her bow off her back, watching as Edmund made short work of an advancing Telmarine, she squared her shoulders and stood beside her brothers as they faced the vast Telmarine army.

Battles most definitely were ugly affairs – and it was about to get very ugly here.

Edmund quieted spoke. "For Narnia?"

Susan felt a pang of regret at her wavering faith as Peter firmed added, "And for Aslan."

* * *

_Oh, Aslan! Peter…get up, get up! _

Edmund clenched his fists tightly at his sides and locked out his knees to keep from stepping toward the ring at Peter's pained cry. There was little doubt in his mind that the High King's shoulder was dislocated as his brother rolled in on it with a wince.

It was with a small sigh of relief that he later guided Peter to the sidelines and stood by while he spoke with Susan. Glancing out at the assembled Narnians, he frowned at their worried gazes and whispers, watching some of them gesturing to their shoulders as they talked amongst themselves.

"Pete? Keep smiling. The Narnians are looking a bit worried," he said, blaming it on the shield stomp that he was still seething about as he watched Peter wince and raise Rhindon to rally the troops.

As soon as Caspian got Peter into a seat, he approached his brother and set about tending him. All the while, he was berating himself – not that he'd admit it to anyone. Ever.

_Why couldn't I be bigger? Older? Why couldn't I fight in your stead, Peter? You've already suffered so much. First Germany. Then the night raid. The Witch, stabbing you. Now this? How much before you fall? _Edmund told Peter he'd be counting to three before popping his arm back in. Of course, he knew he wouldn't make it to three.

His heart felt like it would break when his sharp tug on the High King's arm drew a screech of pain from Peter's lips. And his heart jumped into his throat and nearly out of it, when Peter said the "d" word.

_Die? Peter. Don't even say that, please,_ he thought to himself. There was defeat in Peter's eyes and he knew he was the only one who could force Peter into keeping his resolve firm. And there was one way to do it. _Don't let him make peace. Don't let him ties up loose ends. Make him hold in what he wants to say_.

"Save it for later, Peter."

He added in a little jest for good measure and watched Peter enter the ring to fight once more. Every sword blow and shield strike had him inwardly cringing, though he kept any reactions off his face.

When he saw the exchange amongst the Telmarines, and when Caspian spoke of them "planning something" Edmund's nausea grew and he couldn't tear his eyes away from Peter, expecting Miraz to cheat somehow.

He was completely surprised when Peter suddenly fell backwards as if punched and he cried out in disbelief when he perceived the arrow that was lodged in his brother's shoulder.

_Those vile, loathsome, evil, dishonorable, vile…_

_Drop that crossbow and fight like a man, you treacherous, you lousy excuse for… by the lion! Susan! Oh thank you for that, Su. I'm glad I didn't have to throw my sword at him or something…_

He was distracted by Susan arriving and taunting the Telmarines, her anger getting the better of her as he had desperately wanted to do, but had held back for fear it would have reared an uglier head than his Gentle sister.

But when Peter spoke next, he couldn't hold his tongue.

"Peter! What are you doing? You can barely stand!"

_You git. You insufferable git. You are going to be the death of me Peter. You are going to scare me into an early grave! You can barely stand up, you have an arrow in your shoulder, and yet, oh mighty High King Peter wants to _keep_ fighting? Please pinch me, because I really want to wake up from this nightmare._

Peter's response was, of course, expected and Edmund held in his protest to tend his brother's wound, fingering the arrow shaft and frowning at its depth. He'd have to push it through. He'd have to hurt Peter _more_.

_I'd rather feel the bite of a hundred arrows than do this to you, Peter. Every time you get hurt, I wish nothing more than to take away your pain. Once, I liked to cause you pain. No, not physical pain. Never that. But once I enjoyed causing you mental pain. Throwing it in your face that you weren't dad when you tried too hard to do what had to be done. I've come a long way, haven't I?_

As he pushed the arrow through his brother's shoulder, Edmund winced at the cry and had to blink rapidly to keep the tears forming in his eyes at bay. It wouldn't do to cry. Not for a King of Narnia. Not right now. He'd cry later.

He tried one last time to tell Peter not to fight. It was the child in him, perhaps, that wanted to believe Peter had that choice. The King in him knew it didn't exist, Peter had to finish this.

When Peter couldn't even hold his shield, Edmund bit his lip against another plea not to fight.

_Don't get killed, don't get killed. Peter, if you get killed, I'll revive you and kill you again. I really will. I swear it. Don't get hurt again, no more blood, no more, Peter. My heart can't take anymore._

They clashed again and Edmund could feel each blow in his own body, a sympathetic reaction, maybe, he didn't know. All he did know was relief when Peter finally had Miraz on his knees and the duel, for all he could tell, was over.

Having Peter leaning on him as Caspian decided his uncle's future eased the clenching in his chest some, though it wouldn't fully go away until Peter was safely away from anything even remotely dangerous.

He watched with pride as Caspian spared his uncle's life, content in the knowledge that he had played a part – albeit a small one – in helping the young prince understand the futility of revenge.

Edmund's relief and light-heartedness was short-lived, however, when Miraz was murdered and the Telmarines began to arm themselves for battle.

_It was all for nothing,_ he despaired, realizing that Lucy and Aslan were no where in sight and a battle was about to happen despite it all. _Peter fought and nearly died, and still, we have to battle against overwhelming odds. Why, Aslan, why? Where are you?_

Placing himself beside Peter as they faced the advancing troops, Edmund glanced worriedly at his High King. "Will you be all right?"

Peter of course said he would be, and even managed to make light of the situation by reminding Edmund of the need for a conversation later. Edmund plastered a small smile on his face and said quietly, "For Narnia?"

The High King added. "And for Aslan."

_Aslan. Hear him, Aslan. Your High King fights for you. Your Just King fights for you. Your Gentle Queen fights for you. Your Valiant Queen seeks you out. Now, we need you to help us or it won't be enough to save Narnia._

_A/N: Battle coming. Going to be fun to write that!_


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Well, what you've all been asking me for is here. I do hope you enjoy it. Just a quick special shout out to Lara86, whose review for the last chapter was the story's 100__th__ review! Thanks to all of you who comment, your reviews keep me updating!_

**Part Sixteen:**

Line after line of identically clad soldiers stood, ready for action, across the field. A great mass of mounted warriors nudged their horses onward. Three lone figures – two male and one female – stood at the very edge of the stone ruins where a great duel had just taken place.

One young man was hunched over, favoring his left shoulder. The other, dark eyes blazing with worry and trepidation, was hovering closer than was necessary to his brother. The last stood, bow at the ready, facing the advancing enemy with a small frown on her face.

Behind the eldest Pevensies, Prince Caspian sat astride Realeza, waiting for the signal from King Peter. The latter was watching the Telmarine riders advance across the field, waiting until they reached a predetermined point before he could act.

There.

The Telmarine riders had drawn abreast of a rock formation in the field between the stone ruins and their lines. Peter turned abruptly and looked toward Caspian.

Immediately, the prince turned in the saddle and nudged the horse beneath him into a gallop, riding beside Glenstorm into the How. Breaching the main chamber where a Narnian force was assembled, he cried out, "Narnians! Now!" and then turned Realeza and belted toward the underground tunnels they had extended under the field of battle.

He continued the counting he had begun when Peter looked toward him.

Outside, Peter muttered under his breath. "Five, six, seven…" until he reached ten. Then he called out, "Be ready!" Beside him Edmund swung his two blades lightly, having trouble standing still. Susan raised her bow higher, sighting in on the lead rider.

Seconds later, there was a low rumbling sound and the ground began to shake beneath their feet. Ahead, the field gave way under the weight of the horses and their riders, sending most of the first wave crashing into the collapsed tunnels below.

From two nearby, carefully-crafted ramps, Narnians surged upward and out onto the field of battle, surprising the Telmarine riders and giving them their first glimpse of the Narnian army's true numbers.

Susan was the first to fire, her red-fletched arrow soaring with frightening speed toward a Telmarine who had escaped the falling earth. He fell from atop the horse and was lost in the thundering of hooves and falling ground.

Trumpkin must have waited for that signal because immediately following the Gentle Queen's shot, a volley of arrows rained down from the ledge above the How and disappeared into the Telmarines' midst.

Peter, hard-pressed not to fidget like Edmund was doing, watched as the infantry lines beyond the fallen earth drew closer. It was time. He raised his sword, much like he had done at Beruna, and swung it forward, point jutting toward the enemy lines.

Overhead, a small swarm of gryphons soared forward, clutching stones tightly in their talons. The stones became deadly projectiles as the gryphons swooped down and released them on the Telmarines. One rock could take out ten men with ease, and many took out more as they crashed through the ranks.

Shields did nothing to halt the destruction caused by the heavy stones.

But even the ground and the rocks could not dent the superior numbers of their enemy and as the troops came still closer, Peter breathed deeply and looked to Edmund, nodding lightly at his brother. His gaze lengthened toward Susan and he silently willed her to take care.

Then he turned and with a cry of "For Narnia, and for Aslan!" -- he ran.

The High King was soon surrounded by Narnians running beside him, and then by both Narnians and Telmarines as the two lines merged into a chaotic melee of bodies, swords, shields and stinging and killing blows.

The shouts of dying and the guttural cries of adrenaline-fueled warriors filled the air of the field and the thundering hooves of horses, Fauns, and centaurs mingled with the clashing of metal on metal.

Peter swung Rhindon with a strength born of necessity and knew he'd collapse just as soon as the battle was past. For now, his determination was enough to keep him moving, thrusting, swinging, dodging and blocking.

He lost count of how many Telmarines he had taken down and lost track of Edmund, who he thought he'd seen atop a horse with a drawn crossbow. Susan too had slipped his sight.

A particularly skilled swordsman suddenly drew him from his thoughts and nearly took his head off. _Note to self, don't get distracted, _he thought as he brought his blade around from right to left and blocked a strong blow aimed at his chest, deflecting the blade down and away from his body.

He looked up and realized he was fighting Caspian's instructor: General Glozelle. Gritting his teeth against the growing pain in his shoulder, Peter ducked a strike toward his head and whipped Rhindon across his body, hoping to hit the man in the legs.

Glozelle was too fast and dodged the blow by diving off to the right. Peter stood back up and raised Rhindon in front of him as the man, who had regrouped quickly, stood facing him.

"You didn't seem happy with your King's decision to cheat," Peter panted, arm holding Rhindon steady, but not if he kept dueling a man who was obviously more than your average soldier.

The Telmarine general frowned. "I abhor dishonorable combat," he said, hesitating and lowering his sword fractionally. Around them, Narnians and Telmarines alike stayed back, unsure if either of their leaders wanted their interference.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "And you don't abhor a battle that goes against a challenge stipulation? You know as well as I do, Queen Susan did not fire the arrow that took your King's life."

For a moment, he thought Glozelle was going to respond, but the man's attention appeared to suddenly shift from him to someone behind him. Peter, keeping one eye on the man, shifted to see where his opponent was looking.

He spied Caspian, thrusting his sword into the belly of a soldier and then spinning and slicing his blade across his body, sweeping another man across the chest.

Turning back to Glozelle, he spoke again. "Shouldn't your allegiance be to him? Not some murdering Lord?" He took a step closer to the general, who still hadn't lowered his blade, but wasn't attacking either.

He could feel the surrounding Telmarines who were watching the events transpire out of the corner of their eyes and was cognizant that they might follow Glozelle and that could work to their advantage. If he could sway this man…

His hope was lost when the general raised his sword. "You won't win me over with fancy words, Narnian High King," he said. "My allegiance is to my people and they are not the same as yours."

Peter turned his body just in time to avoid the thrust to his torso, and pushed out with Rhindon to drive the incoming blade further from his body. Glozelle came in with another strike, this one across his body and Peter was forced to back away to avoid it since he couldn't block it without a shield.

He vaguely heard a shout from behind him, but it didn't register in time and he felt a heavy weight impact with his back. Suddenly finding himself falling forward, he slammed into the Telmarine general, just missing the gleaming blade the man held.

The two toppled to the ground, with Peter on top, and Glozelle immediately used his free hand to shove at the High King and roll him to the side, grunting as the younger man's armor dug into him.

Whatever had hit him hadn't been penetrating, Peter thought with relief, but the relief was short-lived as pain in his shoulder forced a cry from his lips and he jerked as Glozelle shoved him aside.

Momentarily dazed and still struggling for breath, he looked up to find the general standing above him, sword raised and poised to strike. He would have swung, and Peter was in no condition to dodge, but another sword suddenly connected with the man's back just enough to halt his attack.

Peter looked past the man and saw his brother's frightened, wide eyes staring at him – his two swords raised, one above his head, the other in front of him. Seeing Peter was breathing, albeit with difficulty, and didn't appear to be dying, his eyes lifted to meet Glozelle's.

"I suggest you get away from my brother, and do it quickly," he said, voice edged with steel as hard as that his blades were forged from. Glozelle, having turned to face him, stiff from the pain of his wound, looked to Edmund's right where Caspian had appeared.

It seemed like royals were coming out of the wood-work to save their High King.

Knowing he was outnumbered and perhaps even outclassed, he shifted his eyes to a few Telmarines who had been waiting in the wings. They immediately surged forward, giving the man the chance to disappear into the swell of combatants.

Peter struggled to his feet, swordless, and dodged a blow aimed for his neck. He keep moving, searching the ground for Rhindon, but not seeing the great sword. A sword hilt suddenly appeared in front of him. He followed the arm up to see Caspian smiling grimly.

"I believe you were looking for this?"

Peter gripped it with a frown and then immediately thrust it past Caspian's right side and into the chest of a man whose sword was raised above his head to come down on the unprotected back of the young prince.

As the High King pulled the blade back toward him, Caspian let out a puff of breath and a muttered thanks before turning and engaging once more in battle. Soon, Edmund, Peter and Caspian were spread out again.

* * *

Ripping an arrow from a nearby body, Susan took a second to look at it before notching it on her bowstring and letting it fly into an advancing Telmarine. She had long ago run out of her own arrows and had taken to pulling spent ones from the dead littering the field around her.

It was hard to dodge the flying arrows and slicing swords, but she had managed to avoid serious injury thus far, though her battle dress was showing bloody patches from flesh wounds.

Sending another arrow flying into an enemy, she turned to search for her next shot – and came face to face with a Telmarine, sword clenched in his fist, standing a foot away from her.

The man's helmet had either been removed or been knocked from his head, and his eyes were wild with battle lust. The blade came forward, thrusting toward Susan's middle, and she only just managed to move aside and bring her bow down to push the blade away.

She cringed, worried that the sword might render her weapon useless, but it was enough of a glancing blow that the great bow seemed to be undamaged and she brought it back up and smacked one end into the man's chin, snapping his head back and knocking him to the ground.

Without hesitation, she ripped the nearest arrow from the ground and thrust it forward, killing the man before he could raise his blade against her again. For a moment, she didn't move, the shock of watching the life fade from the soldier's eyes stopping her in her tracks.

A body suddenly slammed into her and knocked her to the ground. She could hear a dull thud just beside her, and turned her head to see a spear imbedded in the ground, shaking from the impact.

"Are you all right, Su?"

Her older brother pulled her to her feet, voice trembling as he held her at arms length, searching for a serious injury to explain why she hadn't been moving, nor noticed the spear flying at her chest.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking. "I…fine, Peter."

She shoved him forward, away from her, and leapt back herself, both just avoiding another incoming spear. They turned as one and took in the advancing line of Telmarines, still in perfect formation, fresh and all carrying long shields and spears.

The next wave was upon them.

Peter took a moment to survey the field before glancing to Susan and then calling out, "Back to the How!"

The two siblings bolted toward the dark maw that meant safety, if only for a short while until the Telmarines would breach it and follow them into the sacred place.

Peter, being taller, normally would have been in the lead, but his wounds – both the blow from the crossbow bolt and the older wound from Jadis – were bleeding again, and were slowing him down.

Susan watched with wide eyes as a loud crash heralded the first of many incoming stones that began crashing into the How, knocking chunks of earth and stone down into the entranceway.

She skidded to a halt just atop the ramp that led down into the sanctuary, her brother actually bowling into her and nearly taking them both to the ground. Caspian and Edmund ground to a halt beside them and the four exchanged looks.

Peter was the first to turn and take in the neat lines of Telmarines in every direction, surrounding the beleaguered Narnians and gradually forcing them closer and closer to defeat.

Edmund gripped Peter's shoulder suddenly. "Why don't we show them _why_ we are legends, Peter?" He said quietly, eyes shining with a strength Peter remembered from the times they had fought to save Narnia during their reign. He looked to Susan, the same fire in her eyes and to Caspian, who might not have been a legend yet, but was sure to become one whether they won today or not.

"Let's," he said, turning fully to face the advancing troops.

Beside him, he saw Caspian hand Susan a long dagger that he pulled from his own side. She smiled as she gripped it, knowing it would do more good at close range than her bow, since her arrows were spent.

As one, the four began to jog toward the nearest line of Telmarines and when they reached them, there was a great clash of metal and shouts of fiery determination from the Narnians.

* * *

Glenstorm and a Faun exchanged glances as their monarchs leapt into the fray with renewed vigor. The former knew that High King Peter must be close to collapse. He doubted the others were fairing much better.

Gathering themselves, he and his fellow Narnian issued battle cries and jumped – literally – into a line of advancing soldiers. The men couldn't shift their spears quickly enough to catch either being as they fell into them, slashing with their broadswords.

It was enough to break that line, at least.

Unbeknownst to the fierce centaur, nearby his wife was being triple-teamed by a group of Telmarine soldiers. Her bow lay on the ground meters away and she had resorted to a small dagger and her front hooves as weapons.

The men were slowly wearing her down with small, but painful, wounds and it wouldn't be long before she would falter. Her heart thudded as she thought of what her death would do to her son and husband.

A fourth man came up on her right side, bow drawn and aimed at her back. She spotted him out of the corner of her eye and spun lightly on her rear hooves, putting her back to him. Before he had a chance to take advantage of her new position, she shifted her weight and kicked out hard with both of her rear legs.

Both of her hooves connected solidly with the soldier's chest, hitting with a sickening, wet, _crack_. The man sailed backward ten feet and landed in a heap, dead before he hit the ground, his chest caved in from the force of the blow.

She quickly settled her feet and moved to turn back to her other adversaries, but that moment of inattention to them was enough.

One of the men found the opening he had been waiting for and the female centaur cried out as his blade pierced her side. She heard the answering cry of her husband, and over the heads of her attackers, caught his gaze.

He was separated from her by many an enemy and no matter how many he took down in his fury at his wife's plight, more took their place. He could only watch as the Telmarine ripped the blade back out and made to deal a killing blow.

Then, there was a glint of silver and red and a loud battle cry.

Two swords flashing, King Edmund the Just cut down the man who had stabbed the centaur and then turned toward the two others who were moving in for the kill.

With a glare that could have frozen a great lake, he stood before his wounded subject and narrowed his eyes at the men. "So you like ganging up on someone far less armed than you? Why don't you try fighting someone _equally_ armed?"

He spun one of his blades and waited for them to attack. It wasn't a long wait.

Edmund raised the sword in his left hand to block a strike coming for his head from the taller of the two men, then slashed across his body from left to right with his other sword and caught that man under the arms and across the chest.

The second man, in the time it took the young King to strike down his companion, managed to bring his own blade to bear and thrust it with surprising speed at the center of the Just King's chest.

Edmund used the momentum of his right arm's swing after metering out death to the first man, and brought his left blade down as fast as he could, twisting on his left foot and only just deflecting the thrust.

Unfortunately, the deflection wasn't far enough and the blade caught him in the left shoulder, digging a furrow across the shoulder and upper arm. He nearly lost his grip on the sword in his left hand, but somehow managed to hold onto it.

He heard his brother's voice call out to him as he winced and jerked away from his opponent, breath coming in a pained gasp. He also heard Glenstorm shout out and knew the two were fighting their way toward him.

Edmund met the gaze of the man, whose blade bore the young King's red blood on its tip. "You'd die for that beast?" The man asked. "Why? You're human. Why do you defend these creatures?"

The Just King straightened his back. "She is not a beast. She is a wife and a mother. And yes, I would die for her."

Raising his blades, he planted himself firmly between the female centaur, who had collapsed to the ground and was trying to staunch the flow of blood from her wound.

"My…my King," she whispered. "You are too important."

He ignored her and parried the next strike thrown by the Telmarine.

Just as Peter reached him, Edmund dealt the killing blow to his opponent and immediately grasped his left shoulder with his right hand, the sword hilt in that hand quickly becoming slick with blood.

"Edmund!" Peter said, voice pained seeing his brother wounded, fully able to sympathize with the feeling. Although they were opposites in appearance, for once they were sporting nearly identical shoulder injuries.

While Edmund was right-handed and could fight with just one blade, his preference was to fight with both hands and this wound would hinder him in battle. Peter decided it was time to fight side-by-side.

The younger King shook his head at his brother. "I'll be all right, Pete," he said. "It didn't go through the shoulder, more like a glancing blow. But we need to help her." He was already moving to Glenstorm's wife and kneeling. "Cover us." He reached down to the plain white shirt he wore underneath his mail and tore a long strip off of it to use as a bandage.

He could sense Peter taking up a firm battle stance behind him as he looked at the female centaur's side. "You are lucky," he said to her, grimacing when she grit her teeth in pain. "Had this been even a little to the left, it would have been mortal."

She nodded and looked up as her husband finally broke through the lines.

"Glenstorm!" she whispered as he reached her side.

"Willowwind!" he cried, grasping her hand in his own. Turning to Edmund, he bowed to his liege. "My King. I can never repay you for what you did. Thank you."

Edmund stood from where he had finished bandaging Willowwind's side. "Your family has suffered enough in this," he said. "It was in my power to help. You would have done the same for me."

Glenstorm pulled his wife upright and the two drew themselves to their full, impressive heights. Scooping up a fallen soldier's sword, Peter handed it to Willowwind.

"Just a little longer, Willowwind. Lucy will find Aslan, and he will help us. Just hang on a little longer."

She nodded and pulled the sword from his grasp.

Rearing up on his back legs, Glenstorm charged the nearest Telmarine line and his wife joined him, the two centaurs a sight to behold, even wounded as they were.

Peter and Edmund stood side-by-side and ready to meet the next foe. While they hadn't fought together since their last campaign years ago, during their reign, the ability hadn't faded far from their memory and it took very little time for them to synchronize and tear through their enemy with graceful movements.

To anyone watching, it was like the two brothers were of one mind. When one left himself momentarily unguarded, the other instinctively knew and covered that side.

If one brother moved forward, the other moved backward to stay with him. They spun a web of defeat in their wake, and before long, the Telmarines began to avoid the two Kings and their attackers grew fewer.

"Ed, I think we're scaring them," Peter panted, wanting to clutch his chest where the wound given to him by Jadis was roaring in pain. His left arm was beyond painful and bordered on unmovable.

From just behind him, Edmund let out a pained chuckle. "I think we are," he said. He might have continued, but a great wave of shouts of surprise, mingled with those of fear, erupted from their right and both brothers turned to see what had caused it.

Their eyes widened in surprise and they turned to each other. "Lucy! She's done it!" Peter yelled, a combination of relief and surprise in his voice. Although why he was surprised (it was Lucy, after all), he couldn't have said.

* * *

Caspian gasped as a sword sliced into the back of his left leg. It was only a shallow cut, but it had him stumbling backward and before he could stop his backward momentum, he was falling.

With a pained cry, he hit the ground on his back, momentarily winded. He'd fallen into a collapsed tunnel and lost his grip on his sword. He wasn't sure if it had come down with him, or if it was still up on the battle field.

When he regained his senses, he sat up and his eyes widened.

About to spear him through the chest was General Glozelle. The man had let out a battle cry as he raised the spear, but it was cut short when he realized whom he was looming over.

"Caspian?" the man's arms lowered slightly and the spear fell with them.

"Sir," the young prince said, using the form of address he was accustomed to with his former weapons instructor. He eyed the spear in the man's hands. "Do you really plan to kill me?"

Glozelle looked from Caspian to the spear and his eyes narrowed with indecision. "I should. But…I…" he stepped back a step, spear lowering even more and whispering. "But when I look at you, I still see the little boy with his father's sword, as tall as he, asking me to teach him."

Caspian struggled to his feet, standing across the collapsed tunnel from Glozelle. He was no longer that little boy; he was actually a inch or two taller than his former teacher.

"You don't have to keep fighting, sir," Caspian said. "The Narnians are not the beasts you were always taught to believe. They have honor and they have just as much right to live free as you and I."

The dark-haired Telmarine general lowered the spear still further.

"Caspian, you do not know what you ask," he said. "This is treason."

The young prince chuckled darkly. "I don't know, do I? My uncle tried to murder me, I'm sure you know, I saw you lead the archers who were sent to do it. Would it be so bad to abandon rulers such as he? If you could kill me then, why not now?"

Glozelle's hands clenched and the spear rose.

"I had no choice," he cried out, angrily. "What was I supposed to do? Refuse a direct order from my liege? He would have had me imprisoned, killed. I'm a soldier, I followed my orders."

The prince took an angered step forward. "I've learned much with the Narnians. I've learned what true strength is, I've learned what true acceptance is, I've learned what true faith is and I've also learned how to be truly gentle. I've learned to be a ruler. _You_ have learned to be a murderer and a blind follower. I'm offering you a chance to be more, even though you meant to kill me in my sleep."

The battle raged in Glozelle's eyes. He wanted to believe the young man, and frankly, witnessing the Narnians' High King in action, and how he had more valor and honor at sixteen than Miraz could have had in three lifetimes, he felt himself wavering.

The spear lowered completely now and Glozelle let out a puff of breath. "My allegiance has always been to the Telmarine King, or Lord Protector," he said out of the blue. "You are neither of those. But you could be. And I think, I would very much like to have you as my liege."

Caspian let out the breath he had been holding and nodded in relief. Before he could respond, there was a sudden rumble and a great big _root_ erupted from the earth behind Glozelle and wrapped around his middle, jerking the man back with a surprised shout and smashing him into the hard-packed dirt.

He fell limp to the ground and Caspian, eyes wide, stepped forward in shock, hurrying to man's side. Reaching for his neck, he found a steady pulse and determined the general had been knocked out. Battle still roaring above him, he sighed.

"Not a great way to reward your decision to side with the Narnians," he said ruefully. "Forgive me for leaving you, but you'll be safer here anyway." He stood and backed up, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening above him. A hand suddenly appeared beside his head and he looked up into King Peter's eyes.

"Come on, the trees are awake," the High King said with a weary smile as he helped Caspian scramble up the crumbled earth. High above them massive trees trembled and swiped at whole lines of Telmarines, scattering them like pebbles.

Caspian's eyes were riveted to the trees as they thrust their roots into the ground and sent them barreling through earth to collapse the enemies' catapults before the machines could do more damage.

The Narnians were cheering, shaking their weapons into the air in triumph as the Telmarines, in complete chaos at the trees' appearances, flocked away and toward the river.

Peter grimly shouted, "Follow them!" and his order was echoed around the field as Edmund and Susan joined them. "We will end this today. The trees tell us to go to the river. So we go."

Nodding, Caspian and the Pevensies joined the swarming Narnians as they raced after the Telmarines.

_A/N: More to come still, stay tuned!_


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Thank you to all the reviewers who have stuck with me and let me know what they think of the story. You all make me want to keep updating everyday until I finish. Enjoy…_

**Part Seventeen:**

Aslan's mighty roar shook the very ground she stood on and Lucy held her palms even tighter to her ears.

At first, nothing appeared to have happened. But then there was movement from a nearby bush. For a moment, it looked as though the bush was suddenly dropping its leaves as if it was winter.

Until they coalesced into a form resembling the shape of young man, only a head taller than Lucy. A hollow, but at the same time melodious, voice came from the spirit.

"It cannot be, my leaves must deceive me," the tree spirit whispered. "For I think I am looking upon Aslan, King of Kings. And that cannot be, for he has not been seen in Narnia for many centuries."

The mighty lion chuckled. "You are not wrong, young spirit. I am really here. And Narnia could use the help of your larger brethren."

Filled with excitement, the tree spirit momentarily abandoned his shape and flitted around Aslan and Lucy as if carried on a crazy breeze.

When he reformed in front of them, he said enthusiastically, "I can lead you to Orme, he'd be the one you need!"

Aslan halted the exuberant spirit with a low chuckle and a gentle shake of his head. "Please, young spirit, your own name, if you would."

As the spirit undulated, Lucy could almost picture a young man smacking his forehead. "Aye, I've slept so long I've forgotten my manners," he said. "I am Cassis. At your service, my Lord."

The lion bowed his head. "A pleasure, Cassis. This is Queen Lucy."

Without warning, the young Cassis swarmed in excitement again. "_The_ Queen Lucy? Queen Lucy the Valiant? From the Golden Age of Narnia? Are you really?"

Lucy laughed. "Yes, Cassis. But we have no time to waste. My brothers and sister, and the Narnians, need aid immediately. Can you take us to Sir Orme?"

Cassis, who couldn't exactly nod, instead took off into the nearby wood. Aslan bid Lucy to climb atop his back and then swiftly traversed the ground in pursuit of the quick-moving spirit.

Moving at such a fast pace, Lucy wasn't able to converse with Aslan, so instead her thoughts turned inward to the guilt she was still feeling.

Though she had been right, and they had needed Aslan to defeat the Telmarines, she still couldn't shake the guilt for hurting her older brother. Not physically, since they had talked about that, but mentally, she knew he could deny it all he wanted, but her words had badly hurt Peter.

Yes, they had talked and he had absolved her of any blame, but her heart hadn't. She didn't think she would ever forget her brother, suddenly thrust back into a world of immobility, feeling he had deserved it because of something _she _had said to him.

_The shock of hearing Peter say he had no feeling in his legs had taken a while to wear off. Now that it had, the guilt was nearly more than Lucy could bear._

_She had spoken with Trumpkin. She had even spoken with Peter and begged his forgiveness. And he had given it. But her heart was still heavy._

_Now, watching Edmund struggle to bear their brother's weight, and watching Peter's mask of worry, pain and frustration, she couldn't stop the tears from leaking from her eyes._

_**Oh Peter, I know you don't blame me. But **__**I **__**blame me. I'm supposed to be the faithful one, and yet I lost faith in my own brother. What kind of sister am I?**_

_From her hidden vantage point, Lucy could just hear her brothers' conversation as Edmund set Peter down beside a small fire._

_"Thanks, Ed," the elder Pevensie said with a weary sigh. "I'm sorry you have to lug your sorry excuse for an older brother around."_

_Edmund wasted no time in smacking Peter's shoulder. "Shut it, Peter, you aren't a sorry excuse by any means. You just need to have faith that this is temporary. Besides, it can only help me bulk up a little, you know, carrying all that weight." He barely managed to dodge Peter's light punch, laughing at the High King's expression._

_He sobered at the look that next crossed Peter's face. "What is it?" Ed prompted. "We're alone. You can talk to me, Peter. You need to talk to someone, you haven't been yourself since you returned. I know you and Lu reconciled, so what is it?"_

_Peter frowned and shook his head. "I just can't help but feel this is perhaps fitting," he said, gesturing mildly to his legs. "That I deserve a little suffering for leading so many to their deaths. I know we've been over it, and it wasn't my fault, so on and so forth. But Edmund, I made the plan, I executed it, I led the attack, I kept going when I should have stopped. My mistakes were numerous."_

_He looked down and fingered his trouser leg. "If this is all I have to bear in repayment for my failure, I should be so lucky."_

_Edmund patted him on the shoulder. "This is more than you should have to bear, since you didn't fail anyone. Stop berating yourself Peter. Right. Now."_

_Lucy pulled her head back around the small ledge she was hiding behind and leaned it against the cold stone. Her brother felt he _deserved _this paralysis because he had _failed_. _

_Her words came back to haunt her. She had told him it would be on his shoulders should the raid fail. And even though he said she wasn't to blame for his injury, she couldn't help but feel that __she__ was to blame for this. While Peter had a penchant for blaming himself for every little thing that happened, this seemed to go beyond even_ his _normal._

_**I wish Aslan were here. He'd know what to do. Should I talk to him again? Or should I wait until he is healed?**_

_Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of her oldest brother. "Lucy! Hey, Lucy! Can you hear me!?" She gathered herself and resolutely walked around the corner._

_"Yes, Peter?"_

_He smiled at her. "We're about to eat, Ed and I were hoping you and Su could join us. We haven't had much time to ourselves lately..."_

_She forced a grin onto her face. "I would like that very much, Peter."_

Lucy was rather abruptly drawn from her thoughts when Aslan stopped in a small clearing. Cassis had reformed in front of them and was addressing a very large, very still elm tree.

"Elder Olme," he said reverently. "I know you likely have just woken, but the King of Kings, Aslan himself, seeks aid from your warriors. As does Queen Lucy the Valiant of Narnia's Golden Age."

The great elm tree, knarled with age, suddenly twisted until a face of sorts, really just an uncanny face-like knarl to Lucy, turned toward Aslan.

"Aslan, my liege. Long has it been since we have bothered with the world outside ourselves. What has befallen Narnia in our absence? Why have you need of my warriors, my King?"

Aslan briefly spoke to the elder elm and Lucy stood to the side, eyes drifting up, and up, and _up_ to the very top of the old tree. _He must be very old_, she thought to herself.

"Olme has been around for many hundreds of years."

Lucy jerked and spun around. A tall willow tree, with long, swaying branches of green leaves, shook with laughter at the young Queen's wide eyes.

"Can you read my mind?" Lucy blurted, then blushed at the absurdity of her question.

The willow tree shook in what Lucy thought was a negative answer. The elderly female voice sounded again, amusement in her tone. "No, small Queen. But I have seen your expression on many a face over the years and can read it well."

Lucy laughed and nodded. "I've been told I'm as easy to read as a children's book sometimes," she said, glancing to where Aslan and Olme were still speaking. "Are you a warrior too, Madame Willow tree?" She hoped she was properly addressing the ancient being, because it wouldn't do for a Queen of Narnia to insult a subject.

"Aye, I was, but I have seen a few too many winters to be of much help now," the willow said. "My name is Saule. It is a pleasure to meet you, Queen Lucy. The trees have many stories of you and your royal siblings."

Lucy wished there wasn't a battle being waged and she could sit and speak with the old willow more, but she could feel Aslan's approach.

"Dear one, Olme will gather his warriors and with all speed, move to the aid of your brothers and sister," the great lion said, nodding toward Saule. "We must press on, for there is another great spirit we must call upon for aid."

Lucy frowned. "Another, Aslan? Who?"

The great lion chuckled. "You will see," he said. "Hurry now, we must move fast. We have little time and far to go."

Lucy bid farewell to old Saule, who had moved from her long-time spot in the clearing and was speaking to the old elm in low tones.

Both great trees wished the lion and queen luck and speed in their journey, then crashed off toward Aslan's How.

Lucy climbed on Aslan's broad back and they took off toward the Ford of Beruna.

* * *

Narnians crashed through the woods behind the retreating Telmarines, every so often dodging an awakening tree or bush that was flitting about angrily at the strange humans who had no regard for what they were trampling.

Being the tallest of the Narnian leaders, Caspian soon found that he had gotten rather far ahead of the three Pevensies. While no where near as fast as the centaurs, he was still within range of the slower Telmarines and every so often had to defend himself from an attacker.

Crashing through a particularly dense bit of foliage, the Telmarine soldier that Caspian was nearly upon suddenly slammed to the ground and started swatting at a swarm of leaves.

The young prince skidded to a halt a few feet away and gaped as the pile of leaves battered the man, flitting wildly against the soldier.

"Take that, you inconsiderate creature."

Caspian's jaw dropped as the _leaves_ spoke. The voice did not come from a nearby tree or other form of wood. No, it came from within the swarm of small green leaves.

The Telmarine, petrified, screamed and scrambled to his feet, swinging from left to right, up and down, trying to stop the frenzied foliage.

Nothing he did seemed to hinder the Narnian, though a few slashes nicked a nearby bush and Caspian could hear grunts of pain from the swarm.

Realizing that each time the bushes bare branches were hit, the spirit shuddered and the swarming slowed, Caspian raised his sword and, while the Telmarine was distracted, easily defeated the man.

The leaves stopped spinning around wildly and drew tighter and tighter together until Caspian could perceive the shape of a woman in them.

"Thank you, good sir," the voice intoned with relief. "I am in your debt. How can I repay you your act of aid?"

Caspian sputtered for a moment, shaking his head. "No...No need, good spirit. I need no repayment for helping you."

Peter nearly barreled into the halted prince, breath coming in great heaving gasps. "Are you all right? When you weren't moving, I thought the worst."

The High King looked toward the tree spirit and nodded lightly. "Oh, I did not see you were talking," he said, shifting his gaze back to Caspian, who's eyes were still wide and staring. Peter suddenly chuckled. "Hey, Caspian." He waved a hand in front of the young prince's face and that caught his attention. "You _did_ say you were hard-pressed to picture a tree spirit and wished to some day meet one. Someone heard you." Caspian could only nod.

Edmund and Susan reached the two now and both nodded to the still formed spirit. With a fluttering of leaves, the spirit suddenly exclaimed, "Wait a minute. It cannot be…your royal highnesses? You bear the bow, and you bear the sword of the High King. Just like the stories tell!"

Peter smiled. "Yes, we are who you say," he said, lightly raising Rhindon. "And while I would dearly love to stay and chat, the men who crashed through here before us have to be stopped before they can regroup. Stay safe, good spirit."

He nudged Caspian and the young prince stumbled slightly before shaking his head and regaining himself.

"I am sorry, it was just a shock to see leaves attacking a man like a swarm of angry bees," Caspian said as they began running again.

All conversation stopped as the four panted and grunted with the effort of moving quickly through the thick forest.

They could hear the sound of a flowing river from not far ahead and the trees began to thin out. There were shouts and cries from riverside and as the Narnians finally burst out of the trees they were surprised to find the whole of the Telmarine force still on this side of the river.

Peter, Edmund and Susan couldn't contain their gasps of surprise when a lone figure appeared at the other end of the bridge -- her red dress flapping lightly in the breeze blowing off the clear blue water.

Queen Lucy the Valiant had a grim smile on her face as she cocked her head to the side and drew her small dagger with the lion hilt.

Peter's eyes widened as his baby sister stood her ground, separated from a desperate army by only a small span of hewn wood and water.

He was about to leap forward and force his way to her side, but something stopped him. A glint of golden hair emerging from the forest behind her.

"Aslan," the High King breathed, hand tightening on Rhindon at finally seeing the great lion in the flesh. "Dear Lucy, you are amazing," he said quietly, drawing a brief look from Edmund and Susan.

His heart leapt into his throat when Lord Sopespian suddenly shouted "charge" and dug his heels into his horse's flanks, rocketing onto the bridge toward Lucy and Aslan.

Peter jerked and clapped a hand to his ear as a tremendous and terrifying roar shattered the air around them.

Telmarines and Narnians alike clamped hands to their heads and winced at the unbelievable power of the lion's call.

Everyone -- human, centaur, faun, great cats, even the trees who had turned the tide of the battle -- watched, some in fascination, others in fear, as the waters of the river surged and eddied in response to the roar.

Peter jerked his head to the side, upriver, and even the High King of Narnia, who had seen all sorts of magical beings, could only gape at the approaching spirit.

He tore his eyes from the incoming being and for a brief moment, met his youngest sister's. She smiled lightly at him, and then they both watched the water spirit tower over the small bridge.

The High King had no doubt the spirit would deal with the murdering Telmarine lord -- somehow -- but he was still shaking with trepidation.

Would the Telmarines halt their hostilities? Or would they cross the bridge to where Lucy stood alone with Aslan?

Peter had great faith in the great lion, but even he could only defeat so many foes. He would never forgive himself if Lucy fell here today, completing a mission he had sent her on.

His gaze was ripped back to the bridge as the great spirit suddenly smashed the bridge in his grasp and sent the pieces plummeting into the depths as he disappeared back into the waves with it.

The hour of decision was here. Was the battle over? Or was it to begin anew with a new leader?

* * *

As the great lion and the young Queen hurried through the forest toward the Ford of Beruna, Aslan told Lucy of his plan to seek aid from an ancient Narnian named Condatis.

Condatis, the water spirit who dwelled in the river at Beruna, was old and wise, and Aslan had met him many times before.

"The river holds great power," Aslan said as he ran, Lucy clutching the lion's mane tightly in both hands and leaning on his neck. "But unless the Telmarine ruler is upon the bridge, Condatis will be able to do little."

He couldn't look at Lucy, but he softened his voice to convey his concern for her. "This is where you will need to be very brave, dear one. Narnia will need you to draw the army across the bridge."

Lucy's breath caught in her chest. "Me? But I'm not a warrior. I can't do what Peter and Edmund and Susan can do, Aslan."

She leaned her forehead against his golden head, breathing slowly to calm herself.

"You are very brave, Valiant One. I know you can do this. Turn some of your boundless faith in me into faith in yourself, Lucy."

The young girl lifted her head and frowned. Faith in herself? Well, Peter obviously had found faith in her -- he had banked all their lives on her finding Aslan. Surely if such a magnificent ruler could believe in her, she could?

At the thought of Peter, Lucy sighed dejectedly.

Aslan must have picked up on it. "What troubles you, dear one? You mustn't have such weight on your mind, it is not healthy."

Lucy let out a shaky breath. "Oh, Aslan, I was so horrible to Peter." She explained to the great lion what had transpired between her and her older brother, poured out all of her thoughts of blame and how it had been partially relieved -- but not fully.

"I still can't help but feel in my heart that it is my fault Peter felt his injury was justified," she said as they ran. "He was so broken, Aslan. Peter is always so strong and yet, my words tore him down. He forgave me and told me nothing that happened to him was my fault, but how do I forgive myself for making him think he deserved what happened to him? How do I forgive myself, Aslan? It hurts to feel this way."

Her nine-year-old self had trouble putting her feelings into words, but Aslan seemed to have no trouble understanding her troubled heart.

"Dear one," he said, his voice full of love. "Many people say things they do not mean in the heat of a moment. You are no different. If you wish to make things right in your heart, then make things right with your brother.

He paused as he leapt over a fallen log.

"Talk to Peter. If your words were enough to hurt him so, then your words should be enough to heal him. And yourself."

Lucy pondered his wisdom as they continued their trek. It sounded like he was telling her to have that conversation she had been flip-flopping about. And so, as soon as she could tie her brother down -- she would do it.

Heart already lighter at the prospect of helping Peter get past thinking his paralysis had been a punishment, Lucy smiled and hugged her companion.

"Thanks, Aslan. I'll talk to him."

* * *

Water spirits were fickle beings, content to mind their own business the majority of the time, since little aside from polluting their waterways really bothered them.

Condatis was very bothered by the noise, litter and the sinking of supports into his riverbed. The bridge at Beruna was literally a thorn in his side.

"It shall be my pleasure to aid you, my King," the water spirit said, only his head appearing above the surface of the river, putting him somewhat close to Aslan and Lucy's level. "How will I know when to come?"

The great lion chuckled deeply. "When I call out, old Condatis. Queen Lucy will draw the Telmarines into your river and onto their bridge for you. You will be helping us wash away a hurt that has plagued Narnia for many, many years and we are thankful for your help."

Lucy walked beside Aslan toward the bridge, in view already. There was no sign of the Telmarines, but Lucy had a feeling they were close.

"I'm not sure I can do this, Aslan," she suddenly said, stopping beside the river and staring out across it -- wishing one of her braver brothers could do it. They wouldn't be frightened.

The great lion drew to a halt next to her.

"The prophecy your brother and Prince Caspian found states that one of the four shall embody faith," he said. "That, dear one, is you. Don't lose that faith now."

Gulping the lump in her throat, she looked toward the far shore and her eyes widened as the first of the Telmarine soldiers burst out of the forest.

"We must go," Aslan prompted.

Lucy followed quickly, stumbling a little on the rocky shoreline. Soon, they were at the end of the bridge and Lucy glanced to Aslan before squaring her shoulders, raising her chin and stepping onto the first wooden slat.

The Telmarine army was swelling around the bridge and she could see riders approach the other end. Breathing through her fear, she stepped further out on the bridge and watched as the riders slowed and stared at her incredulously.

Reaching to her side, she pulled her dagger from its sheath and smiled, feeling Aslan near her and feeling her fear lessen.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter, Edmund, Susan and Caspian, staring at her. She almost dropped her dagger in astonishment.

Peter was _standing. _On his own legs. Her oldest brother, who had not been able to feel, much less move his legs when last she saw him, looked ready to bolt toward her, and her heart swelled at the love she felt for him. A small smile spread across her face. He was standing! She wanted to jump for joy and rush to him, she was so overwhelmed with happiness.

If she could see him closer, she would have noticed that he was only still standing because he was so full of battle lust and adrenaline that his body had not realized it had been taxed too far. Otherwise, he most definitely would _not _have been standing. Even though he appeared to have recovered, she knew that there would still be an emotional wound to heal. She would make things right. Later.

She was jolted to attention when the leader of the Telmarine army shouted a command to move across the bridge and took the lead himself to do it.

A roar from Aslan almost made her jump, but she _had_ been expecting it. She did cringe though, as it was right beside her and left her ears ringing. She waited with baited breath as the water began to stream with more and more force and then, Condatis came barreling around a bend, growing taller and taller as he drew his massive form out of the river, sucking much of the depth from the surrounding area.

She looked to Peter as the water spirit towered over the small bridge. Lucy could see the worry in his pose, so she smiled lightly to try and reassure him before turning back to watch Condatis crash into the bridge, destroying it and the Telmarine leader in one fell swoop of water.

She waited with baited breath to see what the Telmarines would do now. Would they surrender, or continue across the bridge and continue to fight?

_A/N: Hmmm. A few more chapters I think…stay with me!_


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: A bit shorter than usual, but I caught whatever my kids had and was sick today. Still, I hope you like the update! As always, I love to hear from you and sometimes I even use what you say or hope to see! _

**Part Eighteen:**

The Telmarine soldiers stood or sat astride horses, those who hadn't been swept along in the crashing water when Condatis destroyed the bridge. Most of them were looking to one another, and around their ranks, uncertain what to do next.

Peter could see that a few of the higher-ranking officers were talking amongst themselves and worried what they could be discussing. He was beginning to feel the burn of his wounds and knew he hadn't much time before they overtook him.

Turning to Caspian, who was standing beside him, sword held loosely in his hand, Peter swallowed and looked down at Rhindon. The Telmarines needed someone to take clear charge of them. Who better than Caspian? He was already royalty to them, albeit somewhat exiled, but it was less of a stretch to follow him than some once-mythical Narnian monarch.

"Caspian," he said, drawing the young man's attention. "I do not know what those officers discuss, but I think now is the hour the prophecy spoke of – the time for you to bring balance and peace to Narnia again."

He held out Rhindon in a lightly shaking hand and Caspian's eyes darted down to the proffered sword hilt, glistening in the sun banking off the river behind him. His insides felt like they were turning to mush.

"I am not like you, King Peter," he said quietly. "I do not see how all these people could possibly put their faith in me as a leader. Why do you not call for their surrender?"

Peter shook his head. "Two reasons. One, I am a figment of a fantastical history they know nothing about. You are their rightful ruler, and a Telmarine yourself. They do not fear your very existence. And two, my voice isn't likely to get much louder than this right now…"

He could feel Edmund shift beside him to look at his older brother, but chose to ignore the look that must be boring into the side of his head. He felt strongly that Caspian must do this.

The dark-haired Telmarine gulped and continued to stare at the sword and Peter. Finally, another voice piped up. "Caspian?"

The young Just King moved up to stand in front of the Telmarine prince. "I didn't think I was ready to be a king when I was thrust onto a throne. I felt like I wasn't worthy. But I learned that I had to accept it, because it _was_ my place." He paused, looking out at the suddenly active officers. "This is your place. Claim it, before it's too late."

Caspian's eyes firmed into a steady resolve and he handed Peter his own sword before taking hold of Rhindon. The Narnians around them who could see what was happening gasped and the attention of the nearest Telmarines was caught.

Whispers spread through the ranks of both armies like wild fire, and Caspian, with one last look at Peter and his brother, turned and moved to the remains of the bridge so that he was standing directly opposite from Aslan and Lucy.

He met the intense gaze of the great lion, and saw shining approval in those eyes which bolstered his resolve even more. Meeting the eyes of the Telmarine officers, who appeared to have decided on a lesser lord as their new leader, he glared and spoke loudly.

"Soldiers of Telmar! Your officers are prepared to call you to arms, to ask you to fight a battle you cannot win. I offer you another choice. Lay down your weapons, and you will not be harmed. The Narnians are not what we were all raised to believe, they are not the beasts that would snatch your babies from their beds."

His gaze turned to the nearest men in the water as he continued, heartened that no one had moved for their weapons and even the officers and the lesser lord seemed to be listening to his words.

"My uncle tried to have me killed." There were fierce whispers in response to that, but Caspian pushed on. "He wanted the throne and was willing to do anything to take it. That now-empty throne is rightfully mine and whether by peace, or by force, I intend to take it. The choice between the two is yours, but I have the support of the Narnians and their Kings and Queens, and of their highest of Kings, Aslan."

As he spoke, he raised Peter's sword and the Narnians raised theirs in response, roaring their approval and their support of the Telmarine. Aslan and the Kings and Queens all raised their heads and their eyes held a challenge that screamed out they would not go down without a fight.

"You have no hope of victory," Caspian said, more gently than his previous words. "I have faith in the Narnians and I know we can all live peacefully. They have shown themselves to be loyal and true beings. Lay down your arms and no more blood need be spilt today."

There was a tense silence and for a moment, Caspian feared his first attempt at becoming a true leader had failed. But then, the lesser lord moved his horse forward and out of the water, sword held out to the side and other hand held out in a gesture of no threat.

He slowly dismounted and stood before Caspian.

"There were many in the court who did not want to believe you had turned against us. Many who were loyal to your father, and who would be loyal to you," he said. Extending his sword, hilt first, he bowed lightly to the young prince. "As the next highest in rank behind Lord Sopespian, I offer you my total surrender, Prince Caspian."

Without hesitation, Caspian took hold of the sword offered to him and nodded. "Thank you," he said. Looking up, he watched as the five other officers moved slowly in his direction and each laid down their swords before him.

As the Telmarines began to extricate themselves from the now calm waters of the river, Caspian turned to the approaching Pevensie siblings with a broad smile on his face. He held Rhindon out to Peter. "Thank you. I think the show of Narnian loyalty might just have been the nudge that was needed," he said.

The High King smiled lightly and accepted the sword back. He looked past Caspian now to where Lucy and Aslan still stood and he lightly gestured in their direction. "We should go to them," he said quietly.

Edmund gripped Peter's shaking arm. "You all right, Pete?"

The older Pevensie nodded. "I'll be fine, Edmund. Stop hovering like an old maid. I'm not going to suddenly drop dead on you or anything." He gently pushed his brother's hand off his forearm and stepped into the cold water of the river.

Now that the bridge was gone, they'd have to cross the hard way. Thankfully, the water never reached past their midsection and only half their fabric underclothing got wet. If it had been all, Peter was sure he'd have dropped under the added weight.

Stumbling and slipping on the wet rock, the three elder Pevensies and the young prince finally drew ashore on the opposite bank of the river and came to a stop a few feet in front of Aslan and Lucy.

Peter met the great lion's eyes and, dipping his head and gripping Rhindon, he lowered himself down on one knee. Edmund, Susan and Caspian followed his lead and also went down, bowing their own heads.

"Rise, Kings and Queens of Narnia," Aslan intoned, his voice filled with warmth and love.

Edmund, Susan and Caspian, the latter hesitating, did so, but Peter remained where he was, only lifting his head. "Peter? You can get up now," Edmund said, looking down at his older brother, who had actually laid his sword down on the ground in front of him.

He heard a mumbled response, something that sounded like, "'Fraid not, Ed," before Peter started to fall sideways. Immediately dropping to his knees again, Edmund managed to halt the High King's topple before Peter's head could hit the ground.

"Peter!" he cried out. "Peter, wake up this instant!"

Susan dropped beside them and reached out to touch her older brother's face. "He is very hot," she said, worry in her voice. She looked to his shoulder. "And he is losing blood again."

She looked to her right as Aslan's head appeared at her side and leaned down to Peter, a look of concern in the great cat's yellow eyes. Lucy hit the ground beside her brothers and sister with a cry of "Peter!"

Instinctively, Lucy grabbed at her diamond cordial bottle and was about to uncork it when a warm hand fell atop hers and the bottle, effectively halting the young Queen's movements.

"No, Lu."

Edmund grunted as Peter tried to sit up, holding him down. "Stay still, Peter," he muttered, watching as Susan cut a large clump from the bottom of her dress and handed it wordlessly to him.

The younger brother gathered it into a compress of sorts and without warning Peter, pressed it against his bleeding shoulder. Peter hissed in pain, but otherwise didn't react.

Lucy frowned at him, moving her bottle out of his grasp. "Peter, how badly are you hurt? Why won't you let me?"

The young High King was saved from answering when Aslan's deep voice sounded. "Your brother just needs rest and a hearty meal," the lion said, his breath tickling Lucy's cheek. "But I am sure there are others in need of your healing, dear one."

For a moment, the youngest Queen hesitated, but then she smiled and nodded. Before she stood though, she carefully wrapped her arms around Peter, somehow getting around Edmund's hand on Peter's shoulder.

"I was so happy to see you standing, Peter," she said, muffled in his neck as he wrapped his right arm around her back lightly. "I wanted to run over here and do this. I was so worried when the cordial didn't work." She pulled back. "There's something I need to tell you. Not now, but later. Promise we can talk?"

He cocked his head wearily to the side, but nodded. "Of course, Lu. Whenever you like." The young King smiled as a grin lit up Lucy's face and she jumped to her feet, glancing about, then hurried off to the nearest wounded soldier.

Peter shifted his gaze to the penetrating one of Aslan. The great lion lowered his head and the eldest Pevensie reached out with his good arm and hugged as much of the lion as he could.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I was getting worried."

Aslan's laugh rumbled and Peter felt the vibrations. "_Getting _worried, young one?" the lion chuckled. "But you are most welcome, all the same. Now," he drew back as Peter released his hold. "Let the others take care of everything, Peter. You have done more than enough."

If he'd felt stronger, Peter would have probably protested. But he was lucky he was even able to remain conscious, so he nodded and then let his head fall back against Edmund's shoulder.

Aslan turned to Caspian.

"Your words were very wise," he said to the young man. "You have learned much from Narnia's Kings and Queens. You are worthy of your new place, and I am glad to see it."

He turned and moved off toward where the nearest Narnians were collecting the swords and other weapons of the Telmarines. Casting over his shoulder, he called, "Come, Caspian, Susan. There is still work to be done here."

Rising, Susan smiled at her brothers. "Ed, don't let him even think about lifting a finger to help out. We can take care of everything ourselves, Caspian and I." She turned to the dark-haired Telmarine. "Shall we?"

He smiled and nodded, standing beside the Gentle Queen. For a moment, Peter swore they looked like Susan and Edmund, about to take on a matter of court. As they moved off, he watched Telmarine and Narnian eyes follow them. At least they still had some regal bearing. He, on the other hand, was lying there like a lump in Edmund's arms and felt very far from regal.

"Come on, Peter," Edmund said, grunting as he maneuvered out from behind and somewhat under his heavier brother. "Let's get you up. Glenstorm and some of the Fauns appear to be setting up a camp of sorts. We'll get you out of this armor and comfortable."

The High King let out a cry of pain as he was hoisted to his feet and wavered unsteadily. Edmund gave him a moment, letting his brother lean heavily against him.

Glad that Glenstorm and the Fauns had set up camp on _this_ side of the river, he guided Peter slowly toward the erected tents where the wounded who were not in need of cordial were being taken to be tended.

The centaur spied the young Kings and hurried over. "Your majesties, this way, we have a tent set for you and your royal sisters." He eyed Peter's barely conscious form and frowned. "Shall I send over Healer Danak?"

Peter shook his head "no" as Edmund shook his "yes".

The centaur chuckled. Edmund glared at his brother, craning his head to do it, and forcefully said, "Yes, Glenstorm. High King Peter might not _think_ he needs looking to, but he most definitely _does_."

Nodding, Glenstorm hurried off as Edmund ducked into the tent in front of him, pulling Peter along with him, grumbling, "No…no…of course not. King Peter the Magnificently Stubborn never needs help…"

Peter snorted at that, but was too busy putting one foot in front of the other to hit his brother as he would have liked. He groaned as he was lowered to the center of a large hammock.

Edmund wasted no time and began to strip bits of armor from his brother's body, starting with his legs and working his way up, leaving the armor around the High King's shoulders for last.

"Easy," Edmund said quietly as he gently worked Peter's chain mail off and the latter gasped in pain, shaking a little harder until the mail was off and discarded into a pile. "Almost done, Peter. Just let me get this tunic off."

The oldest Pevensie nodded slowly, letting Edmund work his arms out of the bloodied and sweat-soaked cloth. The air was cold against his feverish body and he shivered hard.

Edmund grabbed a blanket from the nearby pile and draped it over Peter's shoulders as he reached for a water bucket and a cloth. With practiced, cautious hands he began to clean away the blood and grime from Peter's shoulder, edging ever closer to the wound there.

He heard a voice outside the tent call out, "Your majesties? May I enter, it is I, Healer Danak."

Without pausing in his work, Edmund granted him entrance and the Faun soon was beside the younger King, kneeling to get a better look at the wounded boy. "Hmm. That looks painful, but it needs no closing," he said lightly. "I will mix a paste to help ward off infection and to promote healing." He reached out and gently felt Peter's forehead. "And something for that fever…"

He stood. "Do you have any other injuries, King Peter?" he asked as he moved off, pulling things from a small satchel over his shoulder.

Gulping as Edmund reached his wound and began to gently bath it, Peter shook his head lightly. "No. But Ed does."

Edmund looked up at that and frowned. "We'll deal with you first, Peter. My arm's fine." He glared at his brother as Peter opened his mouth to retort. For once, it was enough to stop Peter. "You really must be tired, if you didn't fight me on that."

Peter smiled. "Don't have the energy to argue, Ed. Promise you'll get looked at?"

The younger King nodded. "I promise, Peter. Don't worry your pretty little head over it." He finished cleaning the wound in front and moved around behind Peter to work on the back.

Healer Danak returned to his Kings and asking silent permission with soft eyes began to gently cover the entry wound with his healing paste. Peter winced and shook as he was administered to from both sides.

Finally, after what felt like forever to the High King, both Edmund and Danak stepped back and faced him. Peter looked up with bleary eyes at them. "Will I live?" he whispered with a small grin.

Edmund shook his head. "Yes, Peter. Though, sometimes I wonder if you think of that when you're pulling some of your more … heroic … antics." Waiting until the High King had finished drinking the herbal mixture for his fever, Edmund then stepped forward and eased his brother back until he was comfortably settled in the soft hammock.

"Edmund," Peter said, eyes fluttering a little, but not closing. "We still have a lot to talk about. You told me to 'save it for later'." He suddenly yawned widely. "You really have always been there for me, you know and I don't think I ever told you what it means to me."

His brother scoffed. "Peter, I'm going to have to insist we _continue_ to save it for later." He paused as Peter forced his eyes open again and opened his mouth. With a small smile, he reached forward and placed a finger to his brother's lips. "No, Peter. We will talk later. Sleep."

He needn't have added the last bit, because Peter had already drifted off.

With a quiet sigh, he brushed the hair back off his brother's face. "You are going to drive me to an early grave, Peter," he said quietly, sitting back on his heels. Danak quietly left the tent, seeing Edmund was now oblivious to all but his brother's sleeping form.

As he sat on the hard floor, still in armor with his arm smarting in pain now, his thoughts drifted to the night raid, the duel, the battle. How many times could he have lost Peter in the recent past? How many times did he come close to feeling the pain he'd felt when he'd opened that door to those soldiers back in England?

Looking at Peter's peaceful face, he shuddered as an image of that face, paler and lifeless, flashed before his eyes. When Peter had collapsed back on the shore, Edmund's heart had stopped beating for a few seconds, fearing the worst.

With the adrenaline rush of battle now gone, and his wounds reminding him of their presence, he was surprised to find his eyes were full of tears. Tears of physical and emotional pain, tears of joy and sadness. How could he feel so many things all at once?

"King Edmund? Are you within, sire?"

The deep voice of Glenstorm drew him from his thoughts. Rising, he moved stiffly to the entrance of the tent and pulled aside the flap. "Yes, Glenstorm?" he said quietly, and then noticed Willowwind and Halston behind the general.

Bowing lightly, the centaur spoke again. "How fares High King Peter? Will he be all right?"

Edmund sighed. "He will be. He just needs rest and nourishment. Was there something you needed?" He shifted and winced when pain shot through his left shoulder.

Willowwind stepped forward, frowning. "My liege, you are in pain?"

The young King grimaced. "Some. I'll be fine."

She shook her head. "Let us help you remove your armor, my liege. It is the least we can do." Before she could go on, she pressed a hand to her own wound and frowned. "I better let Glenstorm or Halston do it, though. I'm not sure I'd be steady."

Edmund nodded. "How is your own wound, Willowwind?"

She huffed. "Healing, your majesty. Worry not."

He sat outside the tent and looked up when Halston approached. "I can help," the young centaur said, looking to his father for permission. Glenstorm, in turn, looked to Edmund for an answer.

"Go ahead," the young King said to Halston. "I saw you helping some Fauns earlier."

Smiling, Halston nodded. "Oh yes. Once the battle was over, the tree spirits brought me here to Mother and Father. I wanted to help, so I went around taking armor off the warriors who couldn't do it themselves. I'm real good at it."

Edmund had to agree as the centaur child made quick work of his armor. Left with only his tunic and leggings now, he carefully moved his shoulder and immediately regretted it.

"Stupid, Ed. Stupid. You must be rubbing off on me, Peter," he muttered, grasped his arm tightly to his side to try and ease the pain. Willowwind, who was now carefully resting on the ground beside him, reached out gently.

"You need to have that looked at," she said quietly.

Edmund shifted his gaze to her and shook his head. "Danak has others in more need of his expertise. I can wait." But the centaur shook her head.

"I have strength enough for this," she said, reaching to help him draw the tunic off and reveal the crusted wound on his shoulder from the duel he'd fought to save her. "After all, you received it saving my life."

The Just King blushed. "It wasn't anything special, Willowwind. You'd have done the same." As she cleaned his wound, he tried not to wince, but wasn't entirely successful. He let out a breath when it was carefully bandaged and Halston handed him a clean tunic he had fetched from inside the royal siblings' tent.

Willowwind paused as he settled closer to the now-lit fire and stared into it. Seeming to think hard, she suddenly reached up and untied a carefully woven leather necklace from her neck.

"King Edmund?"

He looked at the female centaur, waiting for her to continue.

"I'd like you to have this," she said, holding out the leather strip. "As a token of my appreciation for saving my life. This was woven by my great-grandfather. It has been blessed and brings wisdom to the wearer."

Edmund gently took the leather necklace and turned it over in his hands. It was a beautiful piece of work. "It is too precious, if it is an heirloom," he said haltingly. But Willowwind waved him off, insisting he take it. He relented. "It is truly wonderful," he said. "I will treasure it always."

He held it out for her and she gently reached around his neck and fastened it for him. With a small smile, she settled back and the four quietly enjoyed a meal together as Edmund awaited Susan and Lucy's return.

* * *

After seeing Lucy and Susan to the tent that held Edmund and Peter, and assuring himself that both Kings would be fine with rest, Caspian excused himself to search out the one other person he had to check on.

Pushing aside a tent flap, he ducked inside the shelter and zeroed in on the man resting on a soft bed of blankets. Stripped of his armor and dressed in a fresh shirt, his old teacher looked smaller than he could remember.

Moving forward, he knelt beside the pallet and sighed. "Well, old friend, I do hope you are having pleasant dreams…" he cut off as Glozelle shifted and turned his head toward the prince.

Eyes fluttered open and then widened. "Caspian?" the general croaked, surprised by his own rough voice. "What happened?" Looking around, the man appeared confused to be in a tent, not on a battlefield. "How did I get here?"

The young Telmarine chuckled, putting a restraining hand on the man's shoulder.

"You were knocked out cold by a tree," he said with a smile. "When we sent out a party to collect the wounded, you were brought here to the camp. We are beside the river and the battle is over."

Glozelle's eyes widened. "Over?"

Nodding, Caspian told him what had transpired since the man was knocked out and by the end of the tale, Glozelle was smiling lightly. "I guess I chose wisely," he said quietly. "I need not hope you will make a better king than your uncle, because it appears you have already proven that you will."

Caspian blushed and turned away. "I am not a king," he said.

Glozelle let out a short laugh. "No, perhaps not yet. But surely you don't believe anyone else will be taking the Telmarine throne?"

With a frown, Caspian sat down and leaned against the tent pole in the center of the shelter. "Well, no, I guess not," he said. "I don't feel like a king." He fingered the edge of his armor. "I feel like a lost little boy sometimes, beside these Narnian Kings and Queens of Old. They're legends really. I'm just Caspian. Another in a long line of Caspians."

Glozelle rose up on his elbows. "But one unlike all the rest," he said with conviction. "Your ancestors, your own father even, would not have done what you have. Would not have befriended and earned the respect and fealty of the Narnian army. I would say you are fast catching up to your new friends and making your own legend, Prince Caspian, soon to be King."

Caspian looked up at the general and lifted his head a little higher. "You are right," he said, smiling. "As usual. I do not understand how you can be so wise, and yet so not. I still do not see how you could have given the order to kill me."

Glozelle slumped back down. "Did you know I have a daughter?"

The prince's head snapped up. "What?"

The general continued. "She's 14," he said. "Her mother died in childbirth. I trained you, Caspian, but you know very little about me because it wasn't my place to be your friend. You want to know why I did what I did? I did it for her. So she would not have to grow up an orphan."

He turned to Caspian. "I don't know if you can ever forgive me for what I did, nor am I certain I can forgive myself. But I hope that you could at least understand why I acted as I did."

Swallowing hard, Caspian thought back to his talk with King Edmund. To his talks with Peter and Susan and even young Lucy. How would they react in this case? And he knew the answer.

"I forgive you," he whispered. "It is in the past, we should move on."

They remained silent after that, each lost in thought. Caspian stripped himself of his armor and took the other pallet in the small tent, drifting off to sleep content that this time, Glozelle would not be leading any armed guards to kill him while he slumbered.

_A/N: Oie, it's odd not to be writing battle scenes! I'm going to miss that!_


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Sorry about the day delay, but yesterday my beta Phoenixqueen and I decided to take a breather because of our moods and so we made each other write one-shots. If you feel like reading dark fics, go ahead and check them out...just go to our profile pages. They are called "Where We Go" and "Suffer With Him". Now, on with the story._

_**Part Nineteen:**_

Edmund sat beside Peter's pallet, his head propped up on his hand and eyes locked on his brother's still too-pale face. It was the dead of night and the High King was feverish, tossing and twisting, at times kicking the blanket from his body and at other times clenching it to him like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

As Peter whimpered again from jarring his wounds, Edmund reached forward and put a restraining hand on his brother's chest, careful not to irritate the wound given to him by Jadis. The blonde calmed immediately at the touch, and the younger King shifted closer so he could keep his hand where it was perched.

"How is he?" a soft, low voice asked.

With a start, Edmund craned his neck around and saw Aslan standing in the tent entrance. "Aslan," he said quietly, checking to make sure he wasn't disturbing Peter. "He is still feverish. I had hoped it would pass before now."

The great lion nodded his head and stepped closer, his large paws making no sound on the hard-packed ground under the tent. He leaned down to look at Peter himself, studying the pinched expression.

As Edmund watched, Aslan breathed gently on Peter's chest and the effect was immediate. The pained look on the High King's face softened and Peter actually sighed. The younger King reached out and could feel the heat had already diminished some.

He smiled. "Thank you, Aslan. He's already been through so much, I hate to see him suffer more." The dark-haired boy looked to the lion and asked, "I've been wondering…well, I think most of us have. Why couldn't you come to us sooner?"

The lion sighed wearily. "It was not because I did not wish to come," he said. "But because it was not possible until your sister found me and asked for my aid. There are things about Narnia that are quite complicated, young Edmund. Be thankful that I was able to help at all and do not dwell on what could have happened if I had been able to come sooner."

Edmund nodded and returned his attention to Peter, who although cooler, appeared to be in the middle of an unpleasant dream if his head flopping from side to side was any indication. With a frown, the young man leaned down and whispered, "Shhh, Peter, you're safe. Please calm down before you hurt yourself."

Edmund was relieved when Peter calmed and settled deeper into his bedding, turning his head away from the center of the tent and toward the outside wall. Sighing, the younger King turned back to Aslan.

"It's been so hard, watching him struggle," Edmund said as Aslan sat beside him. "Every time I think he's going to be all right, something else happens. Either he's wounded again, or he loses feeling in his legs. It's horrible, Aslan. I don't know how much more he can take…or how much more _I_ can take."

There was silence for a moment before the golden lion spoke. "Your brother is strong, but he has many trials still to come. As do we all. You can never know what your future holds, Edmund. He may yet have more physical ailments to contend with, and so may you. It is impossible to say."

Edmund turned to face Aslan as the lion continued. "If you dwell on your fears for him, they will overwhelm you. You will spend each day wondering, worrying, and forgetting to live until one day, you will find your time is up and you have nothing but sorrow and pain to remember. Don't let that man be you, Edmund."

Taking a deep breath, Edmund nodded. "I see what you are saying, it's just so hard _not_ to worry about it all. When Peter told me he couldn't move his legs after the raid, I just about died. My heart really did stop. What if it happens again?"

Aslan brushed up against Edmund's shoulder. "If it happens again, you and your sisters will be there for him. And as a family, you will get through it. There are those who suffer greater and who still manage to start many days with a smile."

Edmund thought back to the men he'd seen returning from war without limbs. The quadriplegics confined to a life of stillness. There was no hope they would regain their mobility. Perhaps it wouldn't be impossible to cope if Peter were to lose feeling again. It would never be pleasant, but it _could_ be worse.

The conversation might have continued, but a cry broke the silence in the tent. "No! Ed!"

Aslan and the younger King watched as Peter's eyes snapped open suddenly, a look of utter horror on his face until his gaze locked on Edmund. "You're all right," the blonde whispered. "I…I saw. But no, you're all right. It was just a dream."

Wiping a bead of sweat from Peter's forehead, Edmund shook his head. "Yes, I'm fine. What did you think happened to me, Peter? Did you have a nightmare? About Beruna?"

The elder Pevensie shook his head slowly, wincing as his head swam angrily at the action. "No, not Beruna, Edmund. It was something…else. I don't really want to talk about it."

"Speaking of that which you fear often helps you overcome it."

Peter's eyes jerked past Edmund and took in the lion standing in the center of the tent watching him quietly. "Aslan!" he said, a small smile crossing his face. "I am sorry I passed out on you. It was quite rude of me."

The lion chuckled merrily. "Don't worry about that, young Peter. I did not take offense." He sobered slightly. "You should take Edmund up on his offer. I will return later, we have much to speak about. Better to leave it until you are feeling better."

Peter nodded and gazed at Edmund, eyes unreadable in the wane light of the tent. Aslan left as quietly as he had entered and Edmund looked at Peter, waiting for him to speak.

Gulping, Peter almost didn't heed the lion's advice. It was painful, remembering his dream. He wasn't sure he _could _tell Edmund. He was thankful the younger boy didn't push him, just silently sat and let Peter decide when, and if, he would speak.

Edmund smiled and put a hand on his brother's arm. "Don't worry, take your time, Peter. I know you have things in your memories that I could never even imagine and it must be very hard to talk of many of them."

Peter looked over at Edmund, peering sideways through the hair brushing over his eyes. "Do you remember the corporal I would write home about? Arty?" Upon Edmund's nod, Peter continued. "I never told you, but he looked just like you. An older version of you, like our first time in Narnia." He gulped. "I…he was killed the day I was injured."

Edmund sucked in a breath, realizing what Peter was most likely going to say next. "You dreamt it was I who died. Didn't you, Peter?"

A shaky nod was all Peter could manage before he felt a sob threatening to erupt. He tried to hold it down, he had done more crying lately than he had done in his whole life and it was beginning to get embarrassing. They were going to have to start calling him High King Peter the Tearful if he kept it up.

"Tell me, Peter," Edmund whispered, leaning against his brother's pallet and resting his head beside Peter's. They couldn't meet each other's eyes, but they were close enough to hear each others' breathing and it was comforting to both.

Peter took a deep breath, and finally began to speak.

_This couldn't be happening. Edmund wasn't _here_ so he surely couldn't be lying on the ground in a rapidly spreading pool of blood pouring from a gaping neck wound. Peter blinked his eyes as he crouched to avoid enemy fire. When he opened them, it was still Edmund's face and Edmund's eyes that stared up at him from the muddy ground._

"_P…P…"_

_Shaking, Peter reached out and grabbed the groping hand on the earth beside him._

"_P…P…"_

_Edmund couldn't seem to form words. He could only force out a "p" sound and Peter, with a shaking hand, tried to staunch the blood flowing from the young boy's wound._

"_Edmund? You aren't here. You can't be here. You're at home with Mum, Lucy and Susan. You aren't here, so how can you be dying?" he said, shaking his head in denial. But the image still didn't change and a look of pain crossed the dying Edmund's face._

"_Y…fault. Knew." croaked the dark-haired boy, accusation blatant in those dark eyes, even though the words couldn't quite get themselves out. Peter recoiled as if he had been hit, sitting back on his heels as bullets kicked up dirt around him. He was heedless to the danger he was in._

_Shaking his head vehemently, he gripped the shaking hand in his own even tighter. "No, no. I didn't know. I suspected. I didn't know. Please, Ed, please."_

_But the other boy's eyes grew darker, almost black, and he started to move. Peter fell back in the mud, surprised, as the mortally wounded Edmund suddenly seemed to have strength and sat up, blood still dripping freely._

_In horror, Peter watched him raise his sidearm. "Should have been you."_

_The gun went off._

There was silence in the tent for a moment before Edmund lifted his head and looked into Peter's eyes. "Peter, it isn't your fault. You have to believe that. You could have told them a hundred times over what you thought and they would not have listened."

His brother nodded mutely. He knew that, he really did, but it didn't make it any easier. He had dreamt about Arty many times over the months since that fateful day. This was the first time Arty had worn Edmund's visage, however, and it was all the more disturbing.

"It felt so real, even though I just knew it couldn't be, Ed," he said quietly. "I'm always so worried that I'm going to lose you, and it's going to be my fault. That it'll be because of something I did."

Edmund was silent. He wasn't sure what he could say to his brother to ease his worries. But he knew he had his own, so he shared them. "Do you know how guilty I felt issuing that challenge?" he suddenly asked. "I was putting you into a fight I wasn't entirely sure you could win. All I could think was, 'What happens if he dies? It would be all my fault'."

Peter shook his head. "No, it would have been Miraz's fault, Ed, not yours. You didn't fight me."

Edmund looked up. "And you didn't kill Arty. The Germans in those woods did. So how come you seem to think that's your fault? Put it behind you Peter, or you aren't ever going to heal."

There was a grumble from his brother, which Edmund had to lean closer to hear. "When did you grow up, Ed?"

Laughing, the younger King smiled. "Well, there was that first time in Narnia, you know."

Just then, the tent flap was pushed carefully to the side and a short figure ducked in. Long dress sweeping the ground, Lucy stared at her smiling brothers. "Have you two been up all night?" she asked, stepping closer. "You need to sleep, Edmund. You haven't, I'll bet, watching over Peter."

She saw her older brother look at her other brother with a frown. "You haven't slept, Ed?" Peter asked, eyes narrowed and now noticing the dark circles around Edmund's eyes and the weary set to his shoulders. "Get out of here! Go! Lucy can watch over poor old Peter for a while, right, Lu?"

He broke into a wide yawn as he finished speaking. Lucy came forward and plopped down in the chair beside his bed, nodding. "Yup, I think I can watch over a sleeping person well enough. I'll just clean up the bits of drool every so often and we'll be perfectly fine."

She glared expectantly at Edmund who raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Got it, go to sleep. Righto, High King Peter and Queen Lucy." If he was honest with himself, it was getting very hard to keep his eyes open and he could use a rest.

As soon as Edmund had ducked out, Lucy turned to Peter. He was looking at her, eyes heavy with sleep. "We have to talk, don't we, Lu?" he asked quietly, blinking against the pull of slumber. He focused on Lucy's hand as she gently pulled the blanket up over him.

"No, Peter. We have time, you sleep. I can't have you falling asleep in mid-sentence," she replied. He must have been very tired because he didn't even try to protest, just turned slightly and closed his eyes, content that Lucy would watch over him.

Leaning back in her seat, she let her mind float back to what Susan and Caspian had told her of Peter's duel with Miraz. Part of her wished she had been there so she could have given him cordial or helped him somehow. Ed had fixed him up, Su had saved his life, even Caspian had been able to help him at some point. But not her. No, she hadn't even been there to cheer him on.

Sighing, she glanced at her brother's peaceful face and imagined it screwed up in pain. Shaking her head of the thought, she tried to imagine how magnificent he must have looked, dressed in his shining armor, sword held high as he faced Miraz. Yes, that was a much better image than the bloodied, collapsing Peter she had seen earlier.

Lucy was no stranger to injury, not even to injuries her brothers sustained. But it always hurt and it never got easier. She couldn't believe he had been able to find the strength to go on and continue the duel after being hit with the crossbow bolt.

He was so strong, she hoped someday she could be even a fraction as strong as her brother. Pulling the blanket up a little higher, she turned slightly as Susan ducked into the tent and came to stand beside her seat.

"How is he?" Susan whispered, putting a light hand on Lucy's shoulder. "I see you kicked Edmund out. He'd have stayed up all night with Peter if you hadn't."

Lucy nodded. "They were awake and talking when I came in. Peter conked out pretty quickly after Edmund left. I've just been sitting and thinking about the duel and everything you guys told me about it. I just can't believe it. It's so extraordinary."

Susan chuckled. "Well, Aslan did name him 'the Magnificent', Lu. It was a fitting choice, don't you think?" She sobered when Lucy frowned. "What? You have that look on your face again. The one where you are upset about something."

Lucy huffed. "Stop reading my face, Su. Perhaps it is nothing and I just have a funny face on?" She peered sidelong at Susan, who wasn't buying it. "Oh, Su. I was just thinking that sometimes I don't feel very 'Valiant'. That's all. It's nothing, I'll get over it."

Susan nodded before speaking. "You aren't alone, you know. In sometimes wondering if you were named properly." She looked over at Peter. "I know even Peter feels it sometimes, and I'm sure Edmund does too. But when it really counts, we are Gentle, Valiant, Just and Magnificent, Lu."

Lucy leaned over until she was resting against Susan. "You really think so?"

Susan laughed. "I saw a pretty Valiant Queen across that river earlier, Lu. Yes, I think so."

"And I agree. I would not have named you something you were not, dear one."

Lucy turned with a smile. "Aslan! I didn't hear you come in."

He chuckled. "I do that well, Lucy." He stopped beside her. "Is there a reason you continue to doubt yourself, even after I told you to have faith in yourself as you have it in me?"

She frowned, ashamed. "I don't know if there is really a reason, Aslan. I just feel like it sometimes. I suppose until I talk to Peter and get things off my chest, I might continue to feel it. I can't really explain it."

He nudged her gently before lying down behind her, his great body stretched out on the floor of the tent. "Would it help if I told you I have faith in you? After all, I wouldn't put the fate of my people into just anyone's hands."

Lucy smiled. "It helps a bit, yes. And I know that, Aslan, I really do. I'll try to do better."

The great lion nodded. "It is all I can ask of you, Lucy. After all, even I have doubted myself."

"You, Aslan?" Susan turned to him. "Really? Can I ask when? Would you tell us?"

The great lion laughed out loud at that, but was careful to keep the sound quiet enough so as not to wake Peter. "I suppose I could tell you," he said.

_The chanting and frantic beating of the drums was loud in his ears as he stepped forward, alone now that he had sent Susan and Lucy off and away – this wasn't something for young, innocent eyes._

_As he padded toward the Stone Table, with Jadis standing atop it with a gleeful smile spread across her face and her followers gathered around jeering, his thoughts turned to the two young boys he had left at the head of a grand army. Had he left them to an impossible task? Could two young boys, who had so recently known nothing of Narnia -- of centaurs, fauns, talking animals or greedy witches – could these boys lead an army? _

_He had watched Peter face Maugrim and he had seen the doubt in those blue eyes. Had seen the amateur hold he had used when wielding Rhindon. Oreius had taken on the task to train the brothers, but really, how much had they learned in so short a time?_

_The drums and chants grew louder as he drew closer. His heart started to pain him as he thought of the young Daughters of Eve. Alone in the forest, too close to the witch's army for comfort. Would they be safe or would Jadis' followers find them and destroy those beautiful souls and take those young lives?_

"_Behold, the great lion!" Jadis called out as he entered the midst of the sneering and laughing creatures surrounding the Stone Table. He felt fear, not just for himself, but also for the children, his friends, his people. Again, he wondered…was he doing the right thing? Even if the Deep Magic worked as it was meant to, would it be in time or would he wake to find all dead and Jadis victorious?_

_He was momentarily jolted from his thoughts when he was hit with enough force to knock him down on his side and a grimace of pain crossed his face. He could hear more jeering and he clenched his teeth as he was tied, front paws together and back paws together. His eyes were sad as he was muzzled like one would expect a vicious animal to be._

_Aslan took some solace in the fact the torment would be over soon. But he heard the witch call out, "Wait. Let him first be shaved!" And then he felt the sharp blades of countless creatures hacking at his mane, nicking his skin and tossing tufts of bright gold hair about and amongst themselves._

_On Jadis' command, he was hauled atop the table and tied down. Unable to move, he could only shift his eyes around and take in the creatures around him. They would give the four children no quarter if they met them in battle, and again, he feared to know if he had done the right thing._

"_You know, Aslan, I'm a little disappointed in you," Jadis whispered in his ear. "Did you honestly think by all this you could save the human traitor? You are giving me your life and saving no one. So much for love."_

_His heart beat heavily in his chest and he felt the beginning of deep despair. If it was all for nothing…no, he couldn't think that. He had to believe. He had to have faith he had made the right decision and all would work out in the end._

_Above him, he heard Jadis call out: "Tonight…the Deep Magic will be appeased." Y__**es, but not the way you think, Jadis**__, he thought as she continued. "But tomorrow, we will take Narnia forever!"_

_She was brimming with excitement, lust for power and blood and Aslan knew this was it. He looked out beyond the fell creatures and toward the beauty of Narnia's forest. And locked eyes with the wide and frightened ones of young Lucy. There was sorrow in his own as he realized she will witness his execution. He firmed his resolve. __**It will work. It has to.**_

_**For her.**_

_**For her sister and for her brothers. **_

_**For Narnia.**_

"_In that knowledge, despair…and die…"_

_The knife fell and there was pain. And then there was darkness._

Lucy and Susan said nothing for long moments as they studied the beloved face, the rich golden eyes which held a hint of sadness in them. Then, the youngest Queen wrapped her arms around the lion and hugged him tightly. "I never realized, Aslan. You thought about all of us. Didn't you think of yourself?"

He relaxed in her caring embrace. "I did, dear one. But, like you, and your sister, and your brothers, I was more concerned for those I loved. No one is without doubts, from time to time. But you have to let them go, as I did. And I know you will, Lucy. I have faith in you."

The three turned their attention to the slumbering Peter and remained together, although Susan and Lucy soon found themselves curling up and falling asleep against Aslan. The great lion was content to watch over his young monarchs until morning.

* * *

A bright ray of morning sun peeked through the tent flap – and shone right into Peter's eyes. He groaned and pried one eye open, raising a hand to shield his face before opening the other.

_It must still be really early, _he thought to himself, noticing that Lucy, Susan and Aslan were asleep, curled together on cushions beside his bed. Though, it appeared Lucy at least was stirring.

"Peter?" she asked groggily, wiping sleep from the corner of her eyes and stretching like a cat. "Are you feeling all right? Can I get you anything?" She looked at him as he studied her, a look of contemplation on his face.

"There is something," he said quietly so he didn't wake Su or Aslan. "I'd like to go outside, but I'm not so sure I'm steady enough yet. Would you help me?" He extended a hand, deliberately allowing it to shake a bit, even though he was pretty sure he could have gone out alone with only a little difficulty.

Lucy smiled and stood, brushing herself off and grasped Peter's outstretched hand. "Course, Peter. Where would you like to go? I'm sure the river is beautiful in the morning."

He smiled back and nodded. "The river it is, Lu."

Peter grunted and scrunched his nose when Lucy levered him up, but managed not to cry out or otherwise indicate he was feeling pain. It was there, but thankfully he did feel quite a bit better than the day before.

"Peter? Are you sure you're all right?" Lucy steadied him when he wavered a bit and he nodded. "Well, okay. We'll go slowly."

Together, the oldest and youngest Pevensies crept from the tent – golden eyes opening and watching as they left. A small smile crossed Aslan's face. There would be healing this morning, hopefully in more ways than one.

It was slow going, but Lucy and Peter soon reached the bank of the river Rush. As soon as they reached it, the latter sank wearily onto a remnant of the destroyed bridge that had been pushed up on the beach.

Lucy sat beside him and together they looked out over the water, squinting lightly against the sunrise glaring off the blue surface. Peter felt Lucy's gaze shifting to him, then to the water, then to him, then to the water…

"Lu," he said in exasperation. "Out with it."

She laughed. "Obvious, am I?"

He turned to her with a small grin. "A bit, yeah." He heaved a sigh. "Something's bothering you. It'll help if you tell me."

Shifting, Lucy turned her eyes back to the river. "I heard you. At the How. Talking to Edmund. You said maybe you deserved to be paralyzed because of all the Narnians who died in the night raid."

Peter swallowed and picked at the wood beneath them distractedly. "You weren't supposed to hear that," he muttered. "It isn't a big deal. I'm all right now."

She shook her head. "But it does matter and it is a big deal, Peter," she said, reaching out and stopping the incessant picking before he could hurt his hand. "I can't stop thinking it's my fault you felt that way. No, don't say anything yet." She held a hand up in front of him and spun until she was sitting sideways on the wood. "I said things I shouldn't have. That I didn't mean. And you took them to heart and felt you were being punished and that it was right. I need you to know it wasn't right. Just like Edmund said."

Peter met her gaze. "I know you didn't mean it Lucy. I think we are both having a problem forgiving ourselves – you for your words and me for my actions." She nodded, picking dirt from her dress. "So, how about this? I'll forgive you for what you think you did wrong."

Lucy frowned. "Huh?"

Peter laughed a little before schooling his features and turning serious. "Lu, you tell me what you need me to forgive you for, all right?"

She didn't hesitate for even a second. "I need you to forgive me for saying those horrible things…and I need you to tell me you don't think you deserved to be paralyzed because you failed, because…you didn't. Deserve it. Or fail."

He sucked in a breath. "Well then," he said, grabbing her hand. "Lucy Pevensie. I forgive you for saying what you did. And…I won't think of my paralysis as deserved punishment anymore."

A broad smile spread across Lucy's face and she squeezed his hand tighter before hugging him gently. "Thanks, Peter," she said. "I just really needed that. I'm not sure why." Drawing back, she looked closely at him and let out a puff of breath. "Now, to try and help you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Help me? With what?"

She smiled. "This guilt trip of yours. You still blame yourself for the night raid and while you might not think your legs were a punishment anymore, you can't go on blaming yourself for the deaths we suffered."

For a moment, she saw a shadow cross Peter's face. Yes, he was still feeling guilty. But what could she say? Unless…

"Do you blame Lieutenant Ramsey for your friend Arty's death?"

Peter looked at her like she'd grown another head. "What? No, why would I?"

Lucy straightened her back and glared at him. "Well, by your reasoning, he should be to blame. He was in charge of that unit and so he should have moved you out sooner. Should have realized there was danger. Should have saved everyone."

Her brother shook his head. "He didn't know, Lu. No one was certain."

She jabbed at his leg with her finger. "Just like _you_ didn't know the raid would fail. Just like you didn't know that Caspian would break from the plan. Your Lieutenant couldn't save everyone just like you couldn't save everyone. Why do you have to hold yourself to a different standard? You are both leaders."

Her brother frowned, but appeared to be thinking on it. "Well, he was only a lieutenant. Not a general. Not a king."

She grunted. "Only, schmonly," she huffed. "Peter, you're splitting hairs here. My point is, things were out of your hands. You had a good plan. It didn't work. The army had a good plan. It didn't work. It's not your fault. It's not their fault. Sometimes, it's no one's fault."

_No one's fault?_ Peter thought on that. Perhaps it _was_ no one's fault. Any number of things done differently might still have yielded the same impact, or any number of things that went wrong could have gone right and they still would have lost. Was he being silly, trying to make it his own fault? Yes, it seemed like he was if even Lucy, a nine-year-old, could see it was not his fault.

A small smile crossed his face now. "Thanks, Lu." He said. "I _think_ I see it now. We're both rather stubborn, aren't we?"

She laughed. "A bit, Peter."

"You two about done with all the blaming and forgiving and blaming and forgiving, and oh, did I mention, blaming and forgiving?"

Edmund laughed at the sour looks his brother and sister gave him at his words, then held out a hand to each of them. "Come on, breakfast. You both need to eat something before we set out for the castle."

Hauling Peter to his feet, and helping Lucy to hers, the three moved to set off toward their tent – two of them with far lighter hearts and minds – but Aslan appeared before them and said quietly, "Peter, a moment, if you could?"

Looking to Lucy and Edmund, Peter nodded. "Go on, I'll be all right and along soon."

They nodded and left their brother in the care of Aslan. For a moment, neither Peter or the lion spoke. They regarded each other from a short distance apart before Peter carefully lowered himself to his knees.

Bowing his head, he said quietly. "I owe you both a great debt of gratitude – and an apology, Aslan," the High King said solemnly. "Thank you for healing me and … I'm very sorry for not believing in you like I should have. From the start."

He looked up when Aslan's mane tickled his face. The lion nudged him and he smiled and hugged him. "You are most welcome, Peter. It was slow in coming, but your belief in me was strong when it returned. But I sense there is something still troubling you."

Peter sat back, his face clouded. "I worry it could happen again," he said. "It took so little for me to lose feeling again and I fear it, Aslan. It's…it's so hard." He looked up into the shining eyes and saw something there that worried him – regret. What could Aslan regret?

"Peter, you are perhaps one of the strongest people I have ever met. Not physically, but your character. You will handle whatever life throws at you, and you will do it magnificently. As hard as it seems. As impossible as it feels. And why is that?"

He waited and Peter thought.

"Because I have my family and my friends," Peter whispered. "They'll always be there to help me if I need it."

Aslan smiled. "Come. Let's eat. I think you know now what you need to know."

Peter grabbed hold of Aslan's powerful shoulder and used it to pull himself to his feet. He kept hold of the lion's mane as they walked slowly and carefully back to camp.

Perhaps if he hadn't been so weary, one might even have spied a small bounce in Peter's step.

_A/N: Well, there were just a FEW heart-to-hearts there, huh? Hope they made sense! And to those who are interested, I plan to take this story through to the end of Prince Caspian ( a tad beyond, actually ) and then post a sequel of some sort. I'll be sure to let you know what that new story will be called – when I figure it out._


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Bear with me please, I'm highly disturbed by a review this story received and have to say something about it. Phoenixqueen and I put countless hours and a lot of effort into bringing you this story and while we don't mind constructive criticism and everyone has a right to not like the story, we __do__ mind when someone says we need to do more research and put __more__ effort into the story or we're insulting our readers. While it doesn't appear this person read past chapter one, the comment was very disheartening and did more harm than good. Reviews are supposed to help the writers, not make them wonder why they bothered to put so much time and energy into a story. If staying up until sometimes 2 a.m. when we have to get up very early in the morning isn't putting "effort" into a story, than I suppose I don't know the meaning of the word. As a professional journalist, I've had my share of readers who did not agree with my stories and let me know about it. And on since 2004, I have from time to time gotten negative reviews. But this one, by far, was the single most disturbing response I have ever gotten and actually had me close to wrapping this up and moving on to another fandom. So please, if you feel the need to write a review, remember that some people do not have the time to research history for a small piece of a 90,000+ word story; do not write in the canon universe (which we stated we were NOT doing…) and everybody does this for fun._

**Part Twenty:**

Seated around a fire pit, with tents set up around them, Edmund felt almost like he was back at Beruna eating toast as fast as his face could accept it and he instinctively turned to find Peter. But his brother was still speaking with Aslan. So he sighed and returned his attention to the food before him.

It was the tenth time he'd sighed and Lucy shook her head. She knew her brother was anxious to keep Peter not just in his sight, but within arms' reach after what he had gone through.

Over her brother's shoulder, she saw Caspian speaking with a Telmarine soldier and noticed something that might take care of her brother's melancholy – the man had two sheaths, though the swords had been confiscated with all the rest of the Telmarine army's weapons.

Rising, she turned to Susan and Edmund. "I'll be right back. I'm going to drag Caspian over here and make him eat something," she said. "You boys all seem to be allergic to eating, or something." She shook her head at the tongue Edmund stuck out at her and hurried over to Caspian and the other man.

"Oh, Caspian," she said in a sing-song voice. "Did someone forget he's human and needs to eat?" She grasped his arm and tugged lightly. "Bring your friend. I'm sure he could use a bite to eat, as well."

The man in question raised his eyebrows toward Caspian, silently asking if the young girl seriously wished him to join her and her siblings. The young prince shrugged and let Lucy pull him toward the royal tent, Glozelle in tow.

Edmund looked up as they reached the fireside and his eyes honed in on the Telmarine accompanying Caspian. He remembered the man from the duel and how he had been opposed to cheating.

"You're General Glozelle, right?" he asked, nodding for the man to go ahead and take a seat, since he seemed to be waiting for an invitation. When the man nodded, Edmund continued. "I'd like to thank you."

Glozelle's head cocked to the side. "Thank me? Whatever for, Your Majesty?"

Edmund looked over at the man, eying the two empty sword sheaths he was still carrying around with him. "You were opposed to Miraz and Sopespian cheating during the duel. Since it was my brother you were kind of trying to aid, I wanted to thank you."

The man muttered, "Yes, well, it didn't work," under his breath and Edmund actually laughed. Glozelle looked at the young king like he'd grown another head. "What's so funny?"

Edmund laughed harder. "Sorry, sorry. I just had a flash of Peter. He loves to mutter under his breath all grouchy when something he does isn't successful." He paused. "I noticed you have two sheaths. Do you fight with two swords?"

Caspian groaned. "Oh, now you've done it," he said, smacking his hand into his forehead, half in mock exasperation – and half really exasperated. "You'll never get him to stop talking now, King Edmund."

"I have been known to let myself get a little carried away when I speak of two-blade sword-fighting," the man said ruefully. "It's my specialty and I trained many of the Telmarines who employ it, including Caspian here."

Edmund's smile was broad. "It's my preferred style, as well. Perhaps we can compare notes, if you would be willing. I learned from a centaur named General Oreius, and I'm sure there are things you know, that I don't, and vice versa."

With the invitation extended, it was only moments before the two men were sitting side-by-side regaling, arguing, explaining and sometimes even threatening to get up and show each other all manner of two-blade sword-fighting techniques.

Lucy smiled triumphantly at Susan, who shook her head and continued eating. Caspian groaned again. "Queen Lucy, I think, at the moment, I do not like you. I wouldn't be surprised if the two of them will gang up on me later and try to teach me whatever they are discussing."

She laughed so hard at the look on his face, they drew the stares of nearby soldiers. But it felt good to laugh, and the little Queen's cheer brought smiles to some of the solemn faces.

While Edmund and Glozelle continued to have an animated discussion, Lucy spied a golden flash approaching from the river. It was too far away still, but she knew it was either Peter's hair, or Aslan's gleaming coat. Though, more likely the latter, as there was much more of the lion's fur to catch the sun.

She wondered what it was that Peter had discussed with Aslan. And she hoped it didn't set him back after their own talk, she had just gotten him to stop blaming himself for the raid and she was relatively certain that the both of them would be all right now.

_It's Aslan, of course he wouldn't let Peter fall back into that pit_, Lucy thought to herself. _He probably just had to talk to him about his healing. Yes, that's got to be it. If I was Peter, I'd have been interested in that too._

She saw soon that it was indeed her brother and the great lion approaching, and it didn't escape her attention that they were moving extremely slowly. So slow, in fact, that Aslan was hardly moving his legs and was still having to pause to wait for Peter. Peter's movement would better be called shuffling than walking.

With a frown, she ran her hand along her leather belt and drew out her small diamond cordial bottle, looking at the light reflecting off the bottle and the liquid within. Caspian saw her eying it, and commented, "Do you think King Peter will accept a drop, Your Majesty?"

Lucy sighed. "Probably not, but it is worth a try. Sometimes, when he was weary enough, he didn't have the strength to argue. I could argue all day about it."

Edmund and Glozelle's conversation came to an abrupt halt when the former noticed his brother's return. Peter looked up as he breached the small group, with Aslan at his back, and met his brother's eyes, nodding that he was fine, before moving his gaze to Glozelle.

The man found himself strangely entranced by those blue eyes and gulped back a lump that had formed in his throat. It didn't matter how much King Edmund enjoyed his company, if the High King wished to cast him away, it would be done.

Peter pursed his lips, then sighed. "Does this mean Ed's going to have more crazy, two-bladed tricks up his sleeve the next time we spar?"

Glozelle let out the breath he had been holding with a small smile. "I think he may garner a few more tricks, Your Majesty. But I believe I would learn more from him, then he would from me."

Peter shook his head. "I'm in for it now," he muttered as Edmund reached his side, eying his brother's stiff posture with an experienced eye. "Oh, Ed, don't get all clingy on me. I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that, Peter," Edmund grumped. But watching Peter's eyes shift toward Glozelle, he realized perhaps now wasn't the time to pull "brother rank" on Peter. It wouldn't due to undermine his authority in front of the Telmarines. "Oh, all right. Here, just let me help you sit."

Peter gladly accepted that form of aid and was soon munching quietly on toast and apples. He hadn't realized how hungry he had been until he'd taken that first bite of juicy fruit and nearly moaned with pleasure.

Aslan's deep chuckle sounded from beside him and he smiled wanly. "What? It's good!" The lion shook his head, and said nothing, but a small frown crossed his face when Peter grunted and his hand moved unconsciously toward his shoulder.

The lion wasn't the only one who saw the movement.

"Peter," Lucy said. "Why won't you let me give you some cordial? I hate to see you in pain when I can do something about it…" She was fingering the small bottle, but not quite meeting Peter's eyes.

Her brother might have said something, if he didn't have a mouth full of toast. As it was, he was shaking his head from side to side and trying to swallow so he could respond.

Aslan beat him to it. "Dear one, there are some things a person must recover from on their own. The cordial is best reserved for only those cases of dire need. If you gave a drop to every soldier who was wounded, you would have run out long ago."

Peter nodded, lightly patting Lucy's leg. "I'm really all right, Lu. Just an occasional pain here and there. I know you'd like to help, but I'd rather we not waste a drop of cordial. You and I both know how important it is."

Two sets of eyes immediately shot to Edmund, who was looking at them and caught their gazes. He blushed a little with the attention suddenly turned on him and set a small, embarrassed smile on his face.

"Well if everyone is done eating, we have a lot of things to work out," the dark-haired King suddenly said, cutting off the memories of Beruna before any of them could dwell on them.

"King Edmund is correct," Aslan said. "There is one thing that must be done before we breach the castle gates." He turned his attention to Caspian. "Because you accepted the gifts offered to you by the Four, you are worthy. And because you are worthy, you have brought, and will continue to bring, balance to Narnia. But in order to assure that, you must have authority."

The great lion paused, turning his gaze to Peter. "You are Narnia's High King, and as such, even the Telmarine kingdom rightfully falls under your purview," he continued. "But, you are Narnian and as such, the Telmarines may have trouble following your leadership."

Peter nodded. "I know," he said. "That's why I asked Caspian to call for the surrender. I didn't think the Telmarines would be comfortable with me." He looked at Glozelle, who nodded his agreement, still somewhat wary of the Kings and Queens of legend himself, even though he was sitting amongst them.

"I'm not ready," Caspian whispered, looking down at his calloused hands and wondering how he could ever make a good king. "I can fight. And I can call for a surrender. But how can I rule a kingdom?"

Edmund reached out and laid a hand on the young prince's shoulder. "We asked ourselves the same thing, Caspian. You'll figure it out. And you won't be alone. There will be advisors and you have us to bounce ideas off of."

None of them noticed Aslan's eyes dim when Edmund spoke.

It was quick and by the time he spoke again, the look was gone. "Edmund is right, Caspian. You will have all the aid you need. This is your place, and you are ready to take it."

Glozelle quietly added. "I already promised my allegiance, my liege," he told Caspian. "And if I may be so bold, and please do not take offense, King Peter, but I would much sooner follow Caspian than you and your siblings. Not because of disrespect, but because he is familiar and you four are the stuff of legends long forgotten."

Peter nodded grimly. "No offense taken, good general. In time, you will all realize we are more like you than you were led to believe. Talking animals have families and feelings, just as Telmarines do."

Aslan rose. "I am pleased with all of you," he said. "Beyond the gates of the Telmarine castle, it will be my honor to crown another King of Narnia – though I'll need you, Peter, to be my hands."

The High King nodded. "It would be my pleasure," he said quietly, studying Caspian, who still hadn't looked up from his hands. "After all, if Caspian really has learned a little bit from each of us, which is what I think the prophecy meant, than he will be a great King."

That brought Caspian's head up and his eyes to Peter. There was gratitude in those dark orbs, and Peter nodded at the unspoken thanks.

The silence was broken when Lucy suddenly gasped. "Aslan, we can't attend a coronation in _these_ clothes, we'll look like beggars and that wouldn't be much of a first impression," she said, looking to the great lion.

He chuckled heartily. "Worry not, dear one. I've already taken care of it. Last night I sent out a gryphon and a Faun to fetch attire from the treasure chamber at Cair Paravel. All will be well."

Silence fell over the small group for several minutes, until Glenstorm and Trumpkin arrived to announce that things were set to break camp and move on to the castle.

* * *

Breaking camp had been a relatively easy affair. But the journey back was slow, with wounded and two large armies fanning out behind Aslan, the young rulers and Caspian and Glozelle.

Peter, still pained by his wounds, let out an exasperated puff of air as the horse beneath him jostled him roughly yet again. Shifting on the horse's back, he glared at Edmund who was giving him an "I told you so" look. As usual, Peter was riding bareback. But as was _not_ usual, this Telmarine horse was not used to being ridden as such and it was a rough ride.

"Can you still feel your backside?" Susan chuckled. "Because with all that bouncing, I wouldn't be surprised if you couldn't." She only smiled at the mock evil glare her older brother was giving her. "We did tell you not to remove the saddle, but you are stubborn, brother."

Peter was about to respond when the horse he was riding suddenly spooked and the High King felt himself falling backward before he could get a better grip on the reins held loosely in his hands.

He dimly heard a cry of "Peter" and it sounded like Edmund, but he couldn't respond as he toppled backward. Clamping his eyes shut, he waited for the jarring, painful impact, but instead, he felt arms stop his fall and straighten him on the horse.

Cracking open his eyes, shaking from the near fall, Peter saw his rescuer.

An old Faun, who Peter vaguely recalled was a healer, smiled softly at the young monarch. "Close call there, my liege," he said, making sure Peter was steady before he let go of the King's back. "All right?"

Clutching his right hand to his shoulder, Peter nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. I must thank you for catching me though, I think it would have been very bad if I'd fallen." Shifting and scrunching his nose at the renewed pain in his wounds, he looked closer at the Faun. "What's your name?"

Smiling faintly, the Faun replied. "Tumnus."

"Tumnus!" Lucy exclaimed, twisting in her saddle. "Is it really? Oh my!"

Peter chuckled. "Any relation to Mr. Tumnus, Lucy's very best friend?" He didn't expect the head shake in the affirmative and his eyes widened. "Really? You are related? Well, doubly a pleasure to meet you." He stuck out his hand, which the Faun simply stared at. "Oh, right," Peter blushed.

Lucy laughed heartily. "Oh Peter," she said, "only you and I. Mr. Tumnus reacted the same way when I tried to shake his hand my first time in Narnia." She turned her eyes on the old Faun. "Can you tell us about Mr. Tumnus? After we left?"

The old Faun nodded. "The stories of his meeting you, his time with the Witch, the battle at Beruna, and the Golden Age have been passed down from son to son in our family, and I know them well."

Walking beside Peter's horse, ever the observant healer and worried the King had irritated his injuries, he used the stories as an excuse to continue hovering. For the next hour, he told of the turmoil the kingdom had been thrown into when the Pevensies left. How Mr. Tumnus had risen to the challenge as best he could and helped to keep things running. How when the Telmarines invaded, Mr. Tumnus had valiantly helped defend Cair Paravel until the castle had been doomed to fall and he had retreated.

"Before he left Cair Paravel, he made certain that your belongings were well hidden in the chamber in which you surely found them," he said. "But he did remove King Peter's sword, because he couldn't risk it falling into enemy hands."

Peter looked down at the Faun. "So that's why it was at the How and not in Cair Paravel?" He frowned. "So Mr. Tumnus knew of the prophecy? But how did he know the sword was important, it doesn't expressly say so?"

Lucy had turned to Aslan when Tumnus had mentioned the sword.

"Did you tell him? Is that what that painting is all about at the How?" she asked the great lion.

Aslan nodded. "Yes, dear one. It was I who foretold the prophecy, and I revealed it to Mr. Tumnus because I knew he would assure that Rhindon was well-guarded. He was very loyal and very trustworthy."

_The great lion stood silently before the Faun._

"_Aslan, they will take Cair Paravel by nightfall. Can we do nothing?" Mr. Tumnus glanced behind him toward the doorway, half-expecting a Telmarine soldier to come barreling into the treasure chamber any moment._

_Weary, Aslan shook his golden head and his warm eyes shone with sorrow. "No, dear Tumnus. Cair Paravel is destined to fall, and Narnia is destined to remain hidden for many years. But there is one task I must ask of you to ensure Narnia's future."_

_Tumnus drew himself up to his full height. "Anything you ask, my liege, and it shall be done." Aslan drew closer, padding past the Faun and up to the chest that held High King Peter's left-behind belongings._

"_The sword of the High King is the key to a prophecy. If it is lost, hope is lost, for it is the final piece that will bring peace and prosperity to Narnia. Take it and go to the How you so carefully constructed. Make certain it is well-hidden."_

_The sheath and golden hilt of Rhindon lay atop King Peter's armor and Tumnus hesitated a moment before reaching down and carefully pulling the blade and sheath from the chest._

_Holding it close to his body, the Faun nodded solemnly. "I'll see to it, my liege."_

_Aslan nodded. "I know you will do well. Hide it well, but leave a clue to its existence. When the time is right, it must be found."_

_Tumnus watched as Aslan turned and began the ascent from the chamber. He could hear the Telmarine catapults bombarding Cair Paravel and he knew, somehow, that this was it._

_As Aslan disappeared into the nearby forest, Tumnus took one last look at the magnificent royal residence and then turned away and hurried off. He would hide it well and he would add one more painting to those he had already graced the How walls with – so when the time came, the sword would be found._

"Wow, Mr. Tumnus painted all those wonderful pictures," Lucy said, her voice quiet. "I never knew he was such an artist. He never said anything about it." She looked to Aslan, who was watching her. "I miss him. I wish I had been able to say goodbye."

The great lion stepped closer, his side brushing against her leg. "He knew you cared for him," Aslan said. "And someday, you will meet again."

Caspian, riding beside Edmund, turned to the Faun now and voiced his own question. "When was the prophecy carved into the cavern outside Cair Paravel?"

Looking at the young prince, Tumnus replied, "Old Tobias ran from Cair Paravel the day the castle fell. He was wounded, and knew that besides my ancestor, no one else knew of the prophecy. Not knowing if Tumnus had survived, he spent the next three days carefully leaving that inscription before he died of his wounds."

Peter and Caspian turned to each other, each realizing Tobias must have died alone in the dreary cavern they had sought shelter in and both felt sorrow for the Narnian. But both were also thankful he had found the strength to leave record of the prophecy.

* * *

As night enveloped the forest and Telmarines and even Narnians began to stumble and trip in the waning light, Peter called a halt and slid gracelessly from his horse's back with a cringe.

Standing still for a moment, he waited for the soreness to die down before turning around and handing the reins to a nearby Faun who would take the horses to be groomed, watered and fed.

Glancing to the right, he watched Edmund experimentally stretch his wounded arm and grimace. Deciding it was time for a little "over-protective Peter" for a change, he smiled and walked up behind his little brother.

"Oh, Edmund, I saw that," he said into the dark-haired youth's ear. "You're going to let me redress your arm. Right?" He smiled when Edmund stiffened. "Say yes, Ed. Because I won't take no for an answer."

A small shaking in Edmund's shoulders alerted Peter to the fact his brother was chuckling and trying to hold it in. He pulled a sour face and turned Edmund around by his good shoulder.

"You won't be laughing in a minute, Ed," he said with a small grin. "I don't have to be gentle like Su." He laughed when Edmund held up his hands in mock surrender and smiled.

"You win, Peter. I'll let you take care of me. I've been doing a fair bit of coddling lately." He reached out and handed his own horse's reins over, then followed Peter to Tumnus where his brother gathered the supplies he would need and then led them off a ways so they could be alone.

There was silence as Peter helped Edmund shrug out of his tunic and reveal the wound. It needed a good cleaning and a new bandage, but overall looked like it was healing well.

As he cleaned away the old blood and applied a new herbal paste to ward off infection, he sighed. "Edmund?" His brother hummed in question but didn't speak. "We have to talk." Now Edmund shifted and Peter rushed on. "No, we aren't saving it for later again, Ed."

His brother grumbled but didn't argue. "All right," he said, wincing a little when Peter worked a crusted bit of blood away from his wound. "I suppose we've waited long enough."

Peter nodded, then realized Edmund was facing away from him, and said, "Yes, we have." He set about wrapping the bandage around his brother's wound and then sat beside him, leaning against a nearby tree trunk. When Ed settled back too, he went on. "I'm sort of glad you made me wait until later, actually. I kept telling myself during the duel that I had to win so I could talk to you later."

Edmund smiled. "I'm glad."

Peter sobered, "But before we get into anymore skirmishes, I have to tell you Edmund, I don't express my appreciation for you nearly enough. It goes all the way back to our reign, actually. You really were always there and I took it for granted."

He drew his left leg up and rested his arm on it trying to relieve the soreness in his injured shoulder. Edmund remained silent, sensing Peter wasn't finished. He was proven right as Peter went on. "I think that I thought you knew, and you probably do, Ed, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't tell you what it means to me from time to time." Turning, he looked at the side of Ed's head and waited until the younger King turned toward him. "So, thanks Ed. For always being there for me. Even when I … act like I'd rather you left me alone."

His brother let out a shaky breath.

For a moment, Edmund couldn't think what to say. Honestly, he knew Peter was grateful for his help. And he didn't really need to hear it. It was nice to, yes, but it wasn't necessary. Still, it seemed it was important for Peter to say it.

"Well, you're welcome," he said quietly. "While I already knew it, it was nice to hear it. And Peter, you're always there for me too, you know. Even when I ran off to the White Witch, you were all set to run in there after me. Weaponless. Having no idea what you were getting into. You had every right to let me stay for my treachery, but you didn't even contemplate it, did you?"

Peter shook his head. "Not for a second. I was terribly angry at you, Ed, don't get me wrong. But I could never let you be hurt if I could do anything about it. It's just not in me."

Edmund shifted uncomfortably. "We're getting too sappy, Peter. And I'm hungry. Are we good?"

The young High King nodded. "I think we are, Ed. Let's go fill that bottomless pit you call a stomach, shall we?" He stood and braced himself, offering Edmund a hand up. He was pleased when Edmund grabbed it, though he hardly pulled on it to stand.

Suddenly remembering something, Peter gestured toward Ed's neck. "Where did you get the leather necklace?" he asked his brother. "It's very nice."

Edmund smiled and told him about Willowwind presenting it to him while Peter was sleeping. "It's supposed to bring the bearer wisdom, she told me," he added, fingering the leather lightly.

"Hmm," Peter said. "I wonder if one could 'add' something to it and make it bring the bearer a bit of patience. Oh, and perhaps a bit of self-preservation-when-brother-is-in-danger? What do you think?"

He laughed when Edmund smacked his arm lightly. "Very funny, Peter. Hilarious really. Can't you see me laughing?"

With identical smiles, the brothers walked side by side back to camp. While they both hoped they had many, many more years before they were separated by death, if it _did_ happen, they were content in the knowledge they had expressed their feelings.

They were drawn from their thoughts by a commotion ahead.

"Peter! Edmund! Come quickly, you have to see this!" Lucy was jumping excitedly beside two large canvas bags that had just been set down by a gryphon. A Faun slid off the gryphon's back and led him away to get some food and drink.

Edmund drew alongside his sister. "What is it, Lu?" he questioned, eying the bulging bags.

"Those are coronation clothes, Your Majesty, from Cair Paravel," the faun who had just arrived said. "I gathered as much as I could and I'm most certain I found everything you should need, my lord."

Lucy was still bouncing on her feet and even Susan cracked a smile at the prospect of something clean to wear. "Let's see, shall we?" Peter said, breaking the anticipation as he drew open one of the bags and reached in.

He pulled a silver white gown from the bag, with silky, satin sleeves and small pearl beads lining the rounded neck. The crushed velvet garment was adorned with beads at intervals all the way to the bottom, which was embellished with more beads.

The Valiant Queen showed her age when she squealed happily and took the proffered dress from Peter's hands. The older boy chuckled at her enthusiasm and reached back into the bag to pull out a velvet orange-red cape with satin lining the same color as the dress. Large golden embossed designs were spaced across it and he handed it to Lucy as well.

"Oh, Peter! It's the dress I wore at our coronation!" Lucy exclaimed, recognizing it immediately. "I knew it had been packed away, but I wouldn't have thought that it would have survived all this time!"

Peter nodded. "When Mr. Tumnus stored our belongings, he must have grabbed everything that was of any importance to us in an effort to keep them safe."

Digging a little deeper, he came up with another gown, this one longer and made of a blue-silver velvet with gold leaf embroidery and gold, false buttons down the front. The neck was edged in a darker blue, which matched the flowing sleeves.

He handed the beautiful garment to Susan with a smile, then pulled a dark blue velvet cloak from the bag. This was also embroidered, but with silver designs instead of gold and was lined with a silver-white satin.

Beside him, Edmund realized there was a trend here and opened the bag in front of him to reveal a soft sea-gray blue tunic, the velvet subtly shifting in color in the firelight, one moment appearing dark gray before shifting into a lighter hue.

He pulled it out and studied the light blue design on the front before reaching in and drawing out a deep navy silk undershirt, a pair of silver white leggings and a long, silver velvet cape with a twisted silver cord edging. There were also small designs along the back.

Turning to his brother, he watched as Peter moved from the first bag to the second and reached in, drawing out a bright, golden velvet cape lined with pale yellow satin. He held it up for a moment before stooping again and pulling from the bag a dark blue velvet tunic with a mandarin collar and gold edging along the bottom hem.

There was an intricate golden design on the front, which the eldest boy fingered before digging into the bag again and removing a light blue satin undershirt and golden leggings.

At the bottom of both bags, they found boots, dark brown for both boys, and soft satin shoes for the girls. But their joy was not yet complete, because the Faun moved toward Aslan with another bag in his hands and waited for the great lion to nod his approval.

Caspian, standing to the side, glanced at Dr. Cornelius, who had drawn up beside him to watch as the Pevensies looked upon their old coronation clothing and then turned to the Faun and Aslan.

"I think it is high time you had these back," the lion said warmly. "You've proven many times over how right my decision was to crown you Kings and Queens of Narnia, dear ones."

The Faun reached into the bag and drew out a silver crown made of tiny laurel leaves, interspersed with yarrow and laurel flowers. The laurel flowers were white in color and the yarrow flowers gold.

Lucy hesitated for a short moment, lightly running a finger over the crown before taking it into her hands with a small smile. She turned as the Faun moved to Edmund and drew out a silver crown that came to a point in the front, adorned with leaves but in a decidedly more masculine fashion.

He took it with a smile and nodded his thanks, turning it over in his hands.

Susan shifted as the Faun approached her and reached into the bag to draw out another crown – this one a wreath of daffodils and mountain ash leaves. The flowers were gold, mother-of-pearl and set against golden leaves.

There seemed to be an air of anticipation among the group as the Faun came to a stop before Peter, who had yet to move from beside the bag and still clutched his clothing.

From the bag, the Faun drew out a golden crown, this one larger than the three others. There were red stones set in the band and groups of three leaves at even intervals along the top.

Peter took it with an unreadable expression on his face and stared at it. He said nothing as he wrapped it in his cloak and looked back up at the group, all of whom seemed to be looking at him.

"We have a lot to do tomorrow, I think I'd like to get some sleep," he said quietly, not meeting anyone's eyes as he turned and moved off, settling down.

Lucy watched her brother and noticed his melancholy. There was nothing to be done for it now, but later was another story. But then a question that she had wondered about for some time occurred to her and she turned to Aslan, who was watching them all with love and warmth in his great golden eyes.

"Aslan…" she paused, not sure how to ask her question.

"Yes, dear one?" he rumbled.

She hesitated, before just moving to ask before she lost her nerve. "Aslan…ever since we first arrived in Narnia, it was almost…inevitable that we would become the Kings and Queens…but why _us_? What was so special about us that you felt we were worthy to rule? Why did you put your faith in us and give us your love?" She had been trying to place more faith in herself since the battle at the bridge and since receiving Peter's forgiveness, but now, on the eve of watching someone else ascend to the throne, it made her wonder if Aslan still considered her (and her family) worthy.

Everyone still gathered turned to the great lion, who let out a low chuckle at the question.

"Dear one, there are some things that not even I can predict. As I told your brother, the Deep Magic governs all in Narnia, and it will never fail to provide what Narnia needs. But when you entered Narnia, I knew that the time of prophecy had come, and I knew you would be the ones. When I first laid eyes on you, you were all so young, and despite your bravery, you _were_ afraid. But I could see the qualities that Narnia needed in all of you." A small smile crossed Aslan's face. "You were all willing to fight for a land that wasn't your own, and it was easy to love you for your willingness, your compassion, and your faith." He looked around at all of them, that same love shining brightly in his eyes. "I am very proud of all of you. I was then, and I am now."

Everyone straightened up a little more at the lion's praise, and Aslan turned back to Lucy. "Does that answer your question, dear one?"

Lucy nodded and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Aslan's neck again and hugging him for a very long moment, before she stepped back. Fingering her crown and clothes again, she joined Susan and Edmund and the three of them followed Peter in order to bed down for the night.

* * *

The next day saw the Pevensies shed their battle attire and slip into something they had never thought they'd wear again. As each garment was added to the ensembles, each one of them gave off new aura – before they had been known as royals, now they truly looked the part.

Peter smoothed down the dark blue tunic and fidgeted with the clasp on his cloak before stooping down to pick up another pile of clothes, these of green and gold.

Glancing around, he spied Caspian speaking with Dr. Cornelius and headed in his direction. Edmund, Susan and Lucy watched him in confusion until they noticed he was carrying a bundle of clothing and smiled.

"Oh Caspian," Peter called out with a broad grin on his face. "If we have to wear these annoying things, then so do you, my friend."

Dr. Cornelius swallowed a lump in his throat and gaped. It was as if Peter had stepped out of the story book that the good doctor often perused late at night when dreaming what it would have been like to live in the Golden Age. Even without the crown of the High King, he looked exactly as the man would have imagined him.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," he said, moving away. Peter looked after him oddly, before turning back to Caspian. The latter watched his old mentor leave and sighed. "What?" Peter asked.

Caspian sighed. "Oh, nothing, Your Majesty. I think perhaps it just really hit him that you are _the_ High King Peter he told me stories about, is all," the prince said with a smile. He eyed the clothing in Peter's arms. "What is that?"

Peter held it out and waited for Caspian to gather all the pieces into his own arms. "Your clothes," he said in response. "Well, they were mine when I was older…but since I'm younger, they don't fit. And, well, you can't go to your own coronation in blood-stained, sweaty armor, Caspian."

The other boy laughed and shook his head. "I guess not. Care to show me how these go?"

Peter nodded and proceeded to make sure Caspian figured everything out. Soon, the Telmarine prince was standing in front of him. Soft, dark brown boots with forest green leggings tucked into them. A light green undershirt peeked out from underneath a forest green tunic with a stylized outline of a lion embroidered in gold and gold trim lining the bottom.

Caspian bounced on the balls of his feet uncertainly as Peter handed him an emerald green cloak and helped him fasten the clasp in front with a look of concentration; or perhaps a look of slight pain, since he was reaching upward a bit.

"There," Peter said. "Now you look like a king." He stepped back and the first thing Caspian did was tug at the mandarin collar of his tunic. "Hey, now, none of that," Peter said with a laugh before leaving Caspian to mount his horse and join Susan.

He returned to where he had left his own things and frowned. "Now I swear I left it right here…" he muttered, looking around the area beside his horse. "That's odd."

A small voice chimed in from behind him. "Not really, Peter."

Spinning, he saw his youngest sister with a golden crown in her hands standing before him.

He let out a breath. "I thought I'd lost it already," he said, gesturing to the crown. "What are you doing, Lu?"

She stepped forward and tapped him on the leg with her foot. He frowned and then lowered himself down to her height and she smiled, reached up and lightly set the crown on his head.

"There," she said, leaning in and giving him a hug. "And don't you ever think you don't deserve to wear that, Peter," she whispered in his ear before releasing him.

He stood up and smiled lightly. "I won't. I'll always have you around to remind me, Lucy." She nodded and the two mounted their horses to start the final leg of their journey toward the Telmarine castle.

* * *

"Leave it!"

Caspian jerked in surprise when the usually docile Queen Susan practically shouted at him. Pulling his hand down from where it had been tugging at his fancy collar, Caspian blushed. "Sorry. I do not usually wear such trappings."

Susan softened a little. "I know the feeling. The boys felt the same way the first time they had to wear formal attire," she said, furtively making sure her brothers weren't listening. "As a matter of fact, if I remember right, Peter grumbled right up until we entered the hall for our coronation. So don't let him get away with chiding you."

A soft smile crossed the young man's face. "I'll remember that," he said.

They fell into silence as the towers of the Telmarine castle peeked into view in the distance, steadily growing larger and closer. Caspian felt a lump forming in his throat as they drew near.

_How am I going to do this?_ he thought to himself. _I'm not like King Peter. I was shaking in my boots during the raid, seeking revenge, and then riding through the gate like I had a wolf on my tail. I didn't think for a minute to defend the minotaur._

He cast a glance toward Peter, laughing at something Edmund had just said, at ease in the royal clothing he had adorned for the occasion. Beside him, Edmund appeared as comfortable as his brother.

_And King Edmund. I cannot see how one so young can be so wise. I know they grew up in Narnia the first time, but of them all, he had most reason to want revenge on the White Witch. And he did not take it when it was placed in his grasp. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done, not to kill Miraz. And how will I react upon seeing my cousin and aunt? _

Beside him Queen Susan was chatting gaily with General Glenstorm, who had drawn abreast of her for the moment, though he would fade back when the reached the gates.

_I am a warrior, I have never had cause to be something else. How will I be gentle in matters of court when I have very little experience being so? Queen Susan has a talent, she can change as surely as the seasons. Will I really be able to do the same?_

The ringing laugh of Queen Lucy drew his attention to where she was riding and talking with Healer Tumnus, probably reminiscing about his relative Mr. Tumnus. Even after his ill-thought suggestion for the raid, and his actions during it, she had faith in his leadership.

_Nothing shakes her faith in Aslan, though sometimes she seems lacking in faith in herself. Even when Aslan was not there, and there was no evidence he would come, she did not waiver in her faith. Could I have faith in something I cannot feel, cannot see, cannot call upon?_

He nearly jumped out of his saddle when a deep voice sounded from behind him.

"I believe you can do all those things and more."

Aslan's warm, golden eyes met Caspian's wide, dark ones and the young man found himself suddenly believing he could do just about anything because the lion believed in him.

"Thank you," he said with a small smile before twisting back forward and casting his doubts from his mind. He would do this. He could do this. Because he'd never be alone.

* * *

It was the excited shouts that drew Queen Prunaprismia from the rocking chair she was sitting in, feeding her infant son Miraz, the second. Brow creased in confusion, she pushed open the window to the small nursery and leaned out. Spying a young guard, she called out, "What is going on, guardsman?"

The man looked up and bowed to his lady. "An army approaches, my lady. And rumors say that Prince Caspian and the Narnian Kings and Queens are at the head of it, Your Majesty."

Prunaprismia gasped. _But that would mean…my husband?_ Moving quickly, she gently laid the young baby in his bed and moved into the next room to change out of her dressing gown into a soft, purple velvet gown with silver sleeves. She flung a silver cloak over her shoulders and then gathered Miraz up and hurried out the doors.

Rushing through the dark, stone corridors, she burst out on the castle steps just as Caspian and four children – two boys and two girls, two of whom she recognized from the night raid – dismounted just beyond the gates. Beside them was a larger than normal golden lion.

Extending her vision, she took in the many different creatures spreading out behind the monarchs and beyond them, the remnants of the Telmarine army. Her heart thudded in her chest and she saw no sign of her husband.

She spied General Glozelle and a lesser lord, but Miraz and Lord Sopespian were no where in sight. Prunaprismia held her son tighter to her chest and the baby whimpered until she loosened a bit.

Her eyes returned to the lion and she found him looking at her with sorrow. That surprised her. And it must mean that Miraz was not coming back, for why else would anyone look at her in such a fashion?

Swallowing, she watched as the lion opened his mouth – and spoke.

The people who had surged from the castle and from around it gasped as the great beast called out, "The Telmarine army has surrendered arms to Prince Caspian, and they have sworn fealty to him as their sovereign," the lion said. "He also holds the allegiance of the Narnian army and the support of Narnia's High King, whose lordship covers all these lands."

Turning to Caspian and Peter, Aslan paused before continuing.

"It is my right, as King above Kings in Narnia, to crown Caspian the Tenth a King of Narnia and to place him upon the Telmarine throne – as is his birthright," the lion said.

Caspian knew this was his cue and with a quick glance at his mentor, he stepped forward and stood before the lion. His hands were lightly shaking and sweating, but he showed no other outward signs of how nervous he was.

"Will you, Caspian, tenth in that noble line, solemnly promise and swear to govern over the Telmarine and Narnian kingdoms according to the respective laws and customs set out by myself at the dawn of Time? Will you assure that the laws are followed and justice is metered out in all your judgments as King?"

Caspian's voice was clear as he answered. "I promise and swear to uphold the laws and customs you have set out, and to assure that laws are followed and that justice prevails in all my judgments and actions," he said. There was no quaver, no doubt and no hesitation as he said the words that would seal his place as a King of Narnia.

Aslan nodded, pleased, and then turned to where Peter and General Glozelle were standing beside him. He felt all eyes watching the scene play out as Peter removed the Telmarine crown from a cushion in Glozelle's hands and shifted his blue-eyed gaze to Caspian's.

There was a small, sympathetic smile on the High King's face as he stepped closer and beckoned for Caspian to bend lower. The young man did so, and Peter settled the crown in place.

While it was physically light, Peter knew a crown was mentally heavy and before Caspian straightened back up, he said quietly, "It's your turn, my friend, and we all believe in you and will be with you."

The young prince-turned-King stood back up and smiled, nodding his thanks to the High King before turning back around toward what were now his subjects. It would hit him later, he was sure, but right now, all he felt was an odd sort of elation.

_Perhaps I can do this,_ he thought to himself. _Bring peace, justice and prosperity to my people and the Narnians._

With that in mind, he took his first step as a King.

_A/N: Reviews are much appreciated. Most of them anyway._


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Blame the lack of post on the migraine I had for 48 hours…sorry about that. But this is longer than usual, perhaps the longest yet, so I hope it makes up for it! I want to say a sincere thank you to all those who left me messages of support. They were most helpful. I will continue to write in this fandom, as I really do enjoy it. Even though this fic is nearly done, I have been thinking of others, possibly even a LOTR/Narnia crossover…_

_I have to give a special thanks to Phoenixqueen for the help she gave me with this chapter. Since my migraine was so long, she willingly wrote Susan's little story for me and it was very helpful. Her research into medieval advisors was also invaluable. So thanks a million, my friend!! _

**Part Twenty-One:**

His first step as King was easy, but his second step turned into a falter as his eyes met those of his Aunt Prunaprismia and took in the sight of the young baby in her arms – the very child that had begun all of his troubles.

For a moment during which the silence was palpable, neither he nor she moved. Then, Caspian stepped toward her, ignoring all others around him, many of whom were slowly beginning to cheer for the new King.

Stopping a few feet away, he studied the woman and the child. His briefly remembered feeling jealousy and anger towards the two before him, but now he only felt compassion.

"I am sorry, my lady, to bring news of your husband's death," he said quietly. "He was betrayed by his own, but take some solace that he did not suffer in the end." Caspian shifted his gaze to the child in her arms, who he had never seen. "If there is anything the two of you need, it will be provided."

It was an awkward moment, but he felt he had done the right thing. The woman in front of him, however, did not acknowledge the young man with anything more than a short nod. With a sigh he barely managed to hold in, he turned back toward King Peter and his siblings and Aslan, all of whom were looking at him with approval.

He supposed it was his obligation to say something and so he turned back toward the Telmarines who had come from the castle. "You are all welcome to remain here, and to go on as you were. I only ask for your allegiance and I will do all in my power to assure your lives are prosperous."

A small smile crept across his face at the cheers and clapping, not to mention the dozens of relieved faces. There was still an air of uncertainty – after all the Telmarines had always been told tall tales of the Narnians and now being so close to them was unnerving, but Caspian felt it was a good start that neither side had shown any signs of aggression.

Glozelle came up beside him. "My King," he said, a grin turning the corners of his mouth upwards. "Perhaps we should enter the castle now. There are many wounded and weary who need rest."

Nodding, Caspian waited until the Pevensies reached him. Lucy gripped his arm with a smile. "You did very well," she said. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He laughed as the five monarchs pulled themselves back into their saddles and turned the horses toward the now-open gates – the same gates that Peter had so valiantly stood before the night of the raid.

For his part, the High King was hiding any reaction to that very well, but Edmund knew his brother was probably at least remembering that night and hoped he had truly gotten past it and would not dwell on it.

When a smile erupted on the oldest boy's face, the Just King knew healing had come.

Caspian gestured for Peter to draw up beside him as he said, "I think it would be proper if you rode next to me. After all, you're still the High King of Narnia, I should not be ahead of you."

The blonde chuckled. "If you insist, King Caspian."

Caspian's face paled. "Oh, that is going to take some getting used to," he murmured, shaking his head, careful not to tip the new crown from atop it. "I wouldn't be surprised if I forget to answer to it, from time to time."

Susan laughed. "I could tell you quite a few stories when two Kings of Narnia had the same problem, sometimes with unpleasant consequences."

She was cut off when Edmund gasped out, "Susan! Not in front of everyone!"

Together, Peter and Caspian rode through the gates, Edmund, Lucy and Susan directly behind them riding three across. Aslan smiled at the backs of his children and padded through the castle gates with a sea of Narnians and Telmarines behind him.

Balance had finally come to Narnia after 1,300 years of discord and his family was once again safe in the hands of caring rulers.

* * *

Caspian drew his horse to a halt. Lining the courtyard were hundreds of Telmarines – women, men, children. For a moment the innocent faces, alight with hope for the future, morphed into Telmarine soldiers armed with crossbows. But Caspian was quick to dispel the thought.

Dismounting, he turned to face the crowd, taking in the young women who smiled at him, the old men who nodded in respect and the young children who waved, bouncing on their feet to the young Telmarine royal who used to play with them from time to time.

He turned to Lucy, who was gesturing as discreetly as she could to get his attention. When she had it, she mouthed something to him and the grin on his face widened. He nodded to her and then returned his gaze outward.

"Citizens of Telmar, loyal Narnians! In three days time, we will hold a grand banquet to celebrate the beginning of an alliance between our people and hopefully the beginning of a long age of peace. All are welcome to attend and get to know one another." He directed the next comment to the Telmarines. "The Narnians are not the beasts you were taught to believe. I lived with them, and fought beside them, and they are loyal and honorable beings. I beseech you to give them a chance, as they are willing to give you."

There were cheers from the Narnians at the new King's belief in them, and while slower to cheer, the assembled Telmarines did join in and Caspian nodded at their enthusiasm.

"I'll leave it to you, Queens Susan and Lucy, to work out the details. Something tells me you enjoy such things," he said with a smile at Lucy's enthusiastic nodding. Turning to Peter, he added, "I would welcome your input, King Peter, as to what I ought to do next."

The High King smiled and nodded. "Gather together those most loyal to you, both Narnian and Telmarine. You will need an advisory council you can trust. It would be unwise to make any serious decisions without their input."

Caspian pursed his lips, then nodded and turned toward the only group where Narnians and Telmarines were mingling. "I should like all of you to join us in the throne room, it seems there are some things we need discuss."

The crowd began to slowly disperse. Peter charged a group of Narnians with returning to the area just outside the castle to set up camp. Tensions were low, but still there, and he preferred the Narnians made camp there instead of attempting to force the two factions together too soon.

Then he hurried after Caspian and the others.

* * *

Lining the walls of a large throne room were thirteen straight-backed gilded chairs. At the center of a dais at the front of the room was a large throne, a coat of arms carved into the wooden back.

Caspian paused just inside the door, breath catching as he remembered running in here as a small boy and climbing into one of the chairs left vacant when his father's supporters left the castle.

He knew now those seven lords had been driven away by Miraz.

Behind him, Peter gently laid a hand on his elbow and leaned in closer. "Nothing's going to jump out at you, I promise," he said. Caspian could hear the laugh in his voice, though the High King didn't actually let it out.

Moving further into the room, Caspian walked until he was standing just beyond the steps that would take him to the King's throne. He had stared at it often as a youth, wondering what it would be like to sit in it. It was surreal to be a few steps away from finding out the answer to that very question.

There as silence as the young King hesitated. Then an aged hand came to rest on Caspian's shoulder. "Go on," said Dr. Cornelius. "It is rightfully yours. Your father would have been very proud, Caspian."

Five steps took him to the within inches of the throne and with a deep breath, he turned and looked on his old and new friends before quirking a small smile and taking a seat.

High King Peter, Queen Susan, Queen Lucy and King Edmund each graced him with a knowing smile before the former moved closer and spoke. "Have you thought on who you wish to act as your advisors? There are many chairs here to be filled."

Caspian was about to go on, but he noticed that Peter, and to a lesser degree Glozelle and Edmund, all appeared to be hard-pressed to stay alert.

So he gestured to the nearby chairs. "Well," he said. "Why don't you all take a seat and we'll figure that out. I don't want anyone falling over on me..." He looked pointedly to Peter as he spoke.

Once everyone was settled, save for Glenstorm who was not able to sit in a chair designed for humans, choosing instead to stand along the side of the room, a few of them seeming somewhat uncomfortable seated in chairs reserved for lords, Caspian turned to Peter.

"I'm unsure how much authority I really have here," he said. "Do I appoint my own advisors, or do you have final approval over them?"

The High King shifted in his seat. "I would say that since it is rather unclear whether we will remain in Narnia, that you would have full authority on who you wish to appoint. In any case, those on your Council will need to be ennobled, if they are not already, in order to give them the proper authority among the people. We can give you some suggestions, if you have need of them."

Contemplating for a moment, Caspian nodded, "I am unsure what sort of advisors I will need, King Peter. Perhaps you could be of assistance there?"

The young High King nodded. "Of course," he said. "I'd say the easiest choice will be who will advise you on matters of the army. Since both the Narnian and the Telmarine army will fall under your purview, you may need to have two advisors of equal standing."

The Telmarine King nodded, already knowing the answer to who they would be. "Then I should like to ask General Glenstorm and General Glozelle if they would accept such positions," he said, turning his gaze on each in turn. "You would both retain the highest ranking in your respective army, but also have the authority to act as commander of the other's soldiers, in the event your counterpart was indisposed."

Both Glozelle stood as Glenstorm stepped forward and both bowed. The Telmarine spoke first. "It would be an honor to serve as one of your military advisors, King Caspian," he said.

Glenstorm added, "I am certain General Glozelle and I will be able to work together toward a joint army down the road."

"I am sure you will get along well," Caspian said with a smile. "You can exchange all manner of techniques for fighting with two blades. A camaraderie between their commanders may ease the joining of the armies."

"That's settled then," Peter said, pleased. "You will also need someone to advise you on foreign affairs and matters of state. This person should have a vast knowledge of the kingdom's subjects."

King Caspian's gaze was quick to focus on his old mentor. "I can think of no one better for that task than you, professor," the young King said. "You have a knowledge of the Narnians that no other Telmarine can boast. But you also have a knowledge of the Telmarines that no Narnian shares. Would you act as my Chief Ambassador?"

Rising slowly, but steadily, the doctor nodded. "I would, my King," he said warmly. "Long have I waited for this day, and I am honored you would think me worthy of such a post."

Caspian returned his gaze to Peter, nodding for him to continue. The High King frowned before he continued. "You will need someone to oversee the treasury and to manage taxes," he said. "A Seneschal. Ideally, this would be someone who already understands the system here."

There was a long moment before Caspian turned to the Telmarine lord who had been first to lay down his weapon at the Ford of Beruna and pledge allegiance to the new King. "Lord Proctmar, have you experience in such affairs as a lord who holds lands near here?"

Standing, the man nodded. "I do, Your Majesty," he said. "While I have not managed the treasury of an monarch, I have managed my own and I have collected taxes from my own subjects."

It would have to do.

"Then would you be wiling to act as my Seneschal?" Caspian asked.

"I would be greatly honored, my liege," Proctmar said, bowing. "You humble me with your trust and I shall do my best to prove to you that it is not misplaced."

The young High King, seeing this choice had been made, moved on to the next. "A King needs someone to run the day-to-day affairs of court and the council; an advisor who can organize and who has an eye for the small details."

Caspian remembered a certain dwarf that nothing ever seemed to get past and he turned toward Trumpkin with a smile. "You seem to have an uncanny ability to see things that no one else notices at times," he said. "I think you would be well-suited to such a post, if you would accept it?"

There was a look of surprise on the dwarf's face as he slowly rose to his feet, darting a glance at Queen Lucy, who's face lit up in a smile for her dear little friend. Taking heart that she had faith in him, he looked up at Caspian and straightened his shoulders.

"I reckon I could keep a court in shape, Your Majesty," he said with conviction. "It would be an honor to serve the Telmarine who helped to save Narnia."

Caspian noticed Healer Tumnus was fidgeting in his seat, and he knew the Faun was wondering why he had been invited to accompany the Kings and Queens. Deciding not to keep him in the dark, Caspian said, "Tumnus, I had hoped to ask if you would take on the duties of the head healer? The current head healer could assist you with any problems you may have with human physiology, but he has no knowledge of Narnians and we could use your aid."

Tumnus smiled lightly and stood. "I would be honored, King Caspian. And I would welcome the opportunity to learn more of my trade, as well."

Peter scrunched his brows together in thought. After a moment, he suddenly sat up and looked to Caspian. "There is one other post that you really should consider," he said. "For 1,300 years, history has been neglected. If I may, I would suggest appointing Trufflehunter as the Royal Historian. I am sure he could work with the good professor and compile an accurate history of both the Narnian and Telmarine kingdoms."

Caspian nodded enthusiastically. "I agree, that would be most helpful. We can learn much from what happened in the past, and it would not due to neglect our history any longer. The consequences are too dire."

Looking around the room, he realized that everyone who had been assembled for this meeting had been given a position, which satisfied him. He felt that he could trust those that he had appointed, and he liked how every race was represented. However, he still wanted to make sure that everything was properly done.

Peter noticed that Caspian, by force of habit or by respect, Peter wasn't sure which, darted a glance in his direction and seemed to wait for some sort of signal that he had chosen well.

Peter obliged him with a small nod and smile, but vowed to remind the young King later that he wouldn't always be able to look to Peter or his siblings for aid. He needed to stand on his one feet and start thinking for himself. This Council was merely to advise him, but the decisions would fall into his lap.

"There are a few other positions that you might want to consider adding to your Council, Caspian," Peter stated, drawing the young King's attention. "However, since most of those positions will likely be filled by the people of Telmar, you will have to choose them with the assistance of your new Council."

Caspian nodded. "What positions do you suggest, King Peter?"

"In our time, we had an advisor to represent those who farmed the land as well as one to represent the merchants," Edmund replied for his brother, knowing who Peter was referring to. "They were not quite as important of positions, since the Narnians did not rely as heavily on trade or agriculture as your folk do, but you may need them in your Council."

Lord Proctmar nodded in agreement. "His Majesty is correct, and your father did have someone appointed to that position, although I am afraid that he passed away several years ago."

Caspian nodded again. "Then we will need to find someone to appoint to that position."

"In addition," Peter added, catching Caspian's eye. "We had a representative from each of the different races in Narnia…the talking animals, the fauns, centaurs, dwarves, and spirits. The council you've appointed fills that need, but you will also need a group to represent the different districts where your people have settled."

Glozelle spoke up as Peter finished. "There were seven other lords on this Council, Your Majesty, who were loyal to your father and served in that respect. After your father's death, however, they were sent away by Miraz, and have not been heard from since."

"For the time being then, these other empty seats will be kept vacant for them, and I will do my best to locate them and bring them back to this Council," Caspian declared. "If, however, nothing comes of that, I will appoint others to fill these seats in time."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Caspian glanced around the room again before speaking. "If there is no other pressing business to attend to at this time, I suggest that we adjourn for some well-deserved rest."

No one spoke in dissent of this plan.

With a weary sigh, Caspian stood up. Everyone else stood as well, as was custom, and almost as one they turned to the entrance to the throne room as the heavy doors were pushed open to reveal a golden lion.

"Aslan!" Lucy called out. "I had wondered where you'd gone."

He chuckled at her excitement, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I need to steal away your brother for a bit, dear one," he said, looking toward the young High King on his right. Peter moved to stand beside him. Aslan looked over the group and nodded. "I shall return him soon."

Susan, Edmund and Lucy watched as their brother followed the great lion out of the room, each wondering what they could have to talk about. Ed, who had been strangely quiet throughout the whole meeting, save for his suggestions near the end, followed Peter with his eyes until the High King and Aslan rounded a corner and disappeared.

Seeing her brother's melancholy, Lucy was about to speak up and break the moment when a fast-moving body came skidding around the corner and breached the throne room.

Dressed in a flowing pale blue dress with white satin sleeves and dark hair streaming behind her, the young girl's dark, liquid eyes darted around the room and then latched onto General Glozelle.

"Father," she cried, seemingly unaware that she was breeching just about every protocol of the court.

The man in question was barely able to take a step before the girl had launched herself forward and into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around him and breathing a sigh of relief.

"I was so worried, Father, so worried," she whispered, still loudly enough to be heard.

Glozelle swallowed thickly before nudging her away a bit, but still clasping his arm around her. "Forgive me, King Caspian," he said with a small blush. "My daughter can sometimes forget her place."

The young girl's eyes widened as she took in the ornate trappings of the young monarchs and she looked to her father in trepidation. "I'm so sorry," she said, voice quivering as if she feared being struck. In Miraz's court, she might have been, but not in Caspian's.

"It's quite all right," the young Telmarine King said with a soft smile. "You were worried. It is understandable." He looked up to his old teacher. "This must be the daughter you spoke to me of. What is her name?"

The man hadn't a chance to answer before the girl in his grasp pulled away and performed a well-rehearsed curtsy. "I am Miriam, Your Majesty. Please forgive me, I was not thinking clearly."

Caspian nodded. "All is forgiven," he said. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Your father is a good man." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Queen Susan gesturing for his attention. He excused himself and the two spoke in low tones before he smiled and nodded and returned to Miriam and Glozelle. "It has been brought to my attention that every King could use a Castelaine," he said. "Someone to oversee the palace and household, plan feasts and banquets and to manage the servants." He hesitated before going on slowly. "It is a heavy responsibility, but if you are anything like your father, you would be well-suited for the job."

Miriam's eyes shifted to her father's, asking silent permission. As Castelaine, she would reside in the palace, unlike her father who more often than not remained with the army.

Glozelle, inwardly overjoyed that his daughter would be offered such an honor, especially considering her relative youth, and glad that she would have a chance to dwell in safety, nodded his agreement and Miriam smiled broadly.

"It would be a great honor," she said, curtsying again. "I would do my very best, King Caspian."

He smiled. "Then it is settled. And you can even begin immediately, since there is to be a feast in three days. I'm sure together with the professor, the Narnian queens and our new chamberlain, Trumpkin, the festivities will be wonderful."

Caspian switched his gaze to Susan, Lucy and Edmund. "Would you like to retire to the library? It's truly amazing and I used to love relaxing in there after an exhausting day. Today would definitely fall into that category."

The three nodded and followed the young King through the winding corridors. Susan and Edmund both thought it was a stark difference to what they had seen the night of the raid and the castle was actually very beautiful, with tapestries and carvings at regular intervals.

Caspian pointed out various rooms as he went along and every so often he would introduce the Narnian monarchs to someone they passed – a servant, a cook, a gardener, even a seamstress, who Lucy excitedly tried to engage in a conversation.

As they rounded a corner they came upon a set of wide double doors, which Caspian wasted no time in pushing open. Susan gasped as row upon row of books, each towering over them, were revealed.

Seeing her reaction, Caspian smiled. "I thought you'd like it."

She could only nod as she moved in, followed by Edmund and Lucy. Susan reached out and ran her finger along the binding of a nearby tome. "This is magnificent," she said. "I could just sit here all day and read. There much be thousands of books here."

Caspian nodded. "There are. I would spend much time here as a child. Now that the Narnians are no longer a taboo subject, I should like to add some of their history to this library."

"Speaking of history," Lucy said with a smile. "Why don't you tell Caspian a story, Su?"

The elder Queen smiled as she turned around and focused on Edmund. "I have just the one," she said with a smirk. Her brother blanched.

"Which one, Su?" Lucy asked, curious at the expression on her sister's face.

"King Lune's first visit."

There was a moment of silence before…"Susan, I'm begging you not to," Edmund interrupted. "Please don't make me get down on my knees."

"Sorry, little brother. This is important, and it will help Caspian know what _not_ to do," Susan replied, grinning wickedly at her brother.

Edmund sighed and gave in, nodding his permission…not that Susan would have needed it anyway, since she was going to tell the story with or without it.

"This particular event happened just about a week after we were crowned," Susan began. "We were all still slightly overwhelmed with everything that had happened, and Peter and Edmund decided that they needed some time away from all the bowing and honors that were being heaped on us…"

"_Let's go, Ed!" Peter hissed. "Hurry, before Su catches us!"_

_Edmund quickly stuffed the last of his clothing into a knapsack and slung it over his shoulder before picking up his sword. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"_

_The two young Kings hurried down to the stables, only getting turned around once when on their way. "Who would have thought that the palace was so big?" Edmund grumbled as they finally found the stables and quickly tacked up two of the horses. _

_Peter ducked his head out the stable door and checked to see if anyone was there. Seeing no one, the brothers nudged their horses and headed for the gates and the lands surrounding the castle._

_Both of them were overwhelmed by everything that they had seen and done in the past week and needed to get away for a short time and talk about things. Susan and Lucy were enjoying everything, but the Narnians seemed to be looking more to their Kings for leadership, and so a great deal of the burden was falling on their shoulders._

_As they rode out the southern gates, they noticed another party of riders some distance up the road, heading straight for Cair Paravel. _More Narnians looking for their Kings to settle a dispute, no doubt,_ Peter thought to himself as they set a path that would allow them to avoid the riders._

_Once some distance away from the castle, the two brothers breathed a sigh of relief and slowed their horses, simply enjoying the time to rest and breathe. "Tell me how we got drafted into this?" Edmund grumbled. "Maybe we should have left before the battle."_

"_I don't know, Ed. I think we made the right choice…we just weren't fully informed as to what that choice would mean," Peter corrected his brother._

"_Well, let's ride for a while. Too bad we can't go on a short camping trip, like we used to with Dad, before the war, but we'll have to get back for that reception that's happening tomorrow night," Edmund reminded his brother. "And we can't stay out all night or Susan and Lucy will have our heads."_

"_Tell me about it," Peter groaned. "Another function where we have to get all dressed up and parade around on display. Ugh…" he shook his head hard and urged his horse from a walk to a trot. Edmund followed his lead, and the two Kings set out for a good, long ride, hoping to clear their heads._

Lucy giggled. "Su and I were furious when we realized that they'd given us the slip," she said as Susan paused for breath and to collect her thoughts. "What they didn't know at the time…well…let's just say things were very interesting less than an hour later."

"_Lucy, I swear I'm going to box both of their ears!" Susan fumed as she placed her crown on her head and took one last look into the full-length mirror, straightening out her dress, a luscious creation of purple silk with golden trim and golden silk lining the full, flowing sleeves. "How could they have been so irresponsible as to forget that the King of Archenland was making a state visit today? It's only been discussed by all the servants and the Court for the past week," she continued. "Ooh! When I get my hands on them…"_

_Lucy, while equally annoyed at her brothers, tried to keep her sister calm. _

_She quickly placed her own crown on her head, the final detail to her own formal dress of emerald green with a silver beaded corset laced over the front of the dress. "It's all right, Su. They probably knew, and they just went riding further than they had planned. I'm sure they'll be back in time for the reception tonight, and from everything that Oreius and the Beavers have told me about King Lune, he's of fairly good temperament. I'm sure he won't be insulted that Peter and Edmund aren't here."_

_Her sister huffed. "Lu, the whole point of this visit is for the King to meet Narnia's new rulers. Not half of them. And Peter, especially, as High King, should be the one to formally greet King Lune. This is a huge breach in protocol!"_

_There was a tap on Susan's door and Mr. Tumnus' voice called through. "My Queens, the Archenland envoy approaches."_

_Lucy checked herself in the mirror one last time, before opening the door and revealing Mr. Tumnus, who had swapped his customary red scarf for a rich golden one, and contrary to his usual habits, donned an open-fronted scarlet vest. Lucy smiled at her friend. "Thank you, Mr. Tumnus. We'll be right down. If Peter and Edmund turn up, have them get ready quickly and brought to the throne room."_

"_Yes, my Queen," Tumnus replied, sketching a very small, informal bow, since all of the Pevensies had insisted that he was so close a friend that they didn't want that sort of honor from him._

"_Are you ready, Su?" Lucy asked, turning her head to see her sister still fussing with her dress. "We need to be in the throne room before the King arrives…it won't do to keep him waiting."_

_Susan patted her hair one last time before turning away from the mirror and nodding at her younger sister. "I suppose so, but ooh…I can't wait until Peter and Ed turn up."_

Caspian's jaw was hanging open in shock and he quickly closed it, glancing at the Just King who was looking everywhere but at his companions. "You and King Peter missed a meeting with another royal?" he asked, amazed. Even he knew, and he had had very little training in Court protocols, thanks to Miraz, that it could be considered a grievous insult to not show up for an audience with an envoy from another Kingdom.

"We just got mixed up about the date is all!" Edmund protested.

"You're just lucky that Susan and I were able to explain your absence by saying you'd been called away to settle a dispute, but were on your way back," Lucy shot back. "Honestly, Ed! How could you have gotten mixed up when everyone had been talking about it and making plans for over a week before your disappearing act?"

"It was an honest mistake," Edmund replied.

"What happened when they did turn up?" Caspian asked.

_Peter and Edmund pounded through the southern gates and pulled their horses to a stop, dismounting in a rush as Tumnus hurried up to them as quickly as he could._

"_My Kings! There you are! Your royal sisters have been most worried about you! The King of Archenland arrived this afternoon and the reception is about to start. You just have enough time to change," the Faun said in a rush as he began hurrying them towards the doors._

_Peter and Edmund rushed to their own chambers, washed quickly and donned the formal outfits that had been left out for them before hurrying down to the passage just outside the throne room. Their sisters were waiting for them at the door that led onto the rear of the dais where the four thrones sat. When Susan saw them hurrying down the hall she picked up the skirt of her midnight blue dress, walked over to them and firmly boxed both of them upside the head. "Where have the two of you been?" she hissed in anger. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to explain your absence this afternoon?"_

_Lucy joined her siblings, glaring at her brothers. "It's a good thing that King Lune was so laid back. He waved off your absence and said he was looking forward to meeting you tonight. You both owe us, big time!"_

"_Sorry, Susan, Lucy," Peter stammered. "Ed and I went for a ride…we thought the envoy was arriving tomorrow."_

_Susan almost boxed them both again, but refrained so as not to leave a mark on either of them. That wouldn't go over well. "We are going to have words when this is over, just you wait."_

Edmund shook his head as his sister stopped. "I never want to hear another lecture like the one that Susan gave us that night after the reception," he said wryly, shaking his head. "My ears were ringing for a week, she was so mad."

Caspian couldn't help himself any longer and burst out laughing, which set off the rest of the group, including Edmund, who finally gave into the humor and laughed along with them.

"At the time, it wasn't that funny," Lucy said through her giggles. "We barely avoided a diplomatic nightmare from that situation, but King Lune really was so good-natured about it, and he became a dear friend and a strong ally for the rest of our reign. And fortunately, he never found out that the Kings of Narnia had been out on a pleasure ride instead of being there to greet him when he made that first visit."

"Believe me, after that, Peter and I never missed another function," Edmund said solemnly, which set the others off again.

Just then, Peter and Aslan came into the library and drew everyone's attention, stopping the laughter. It didn't escape anyone's notice that the young High King appeared to be preoccupied, and perhaps even a little pale.

Aslan looked around at the young rulers. "You all deserve a rest. I will go to the Narnian encampment and make certain all is well. Remain here and let go any worries you might have," he said before turning and padding out the door before anyone could argue.

Edmund turned to Peter. "What did he want to talk about?" The younger King asked. He was surprised when Peter's eyes met his and they seemed haunted. His concern grew.

But Peter had no intention, it seemed, of sharing. "It was just a few small formalities, Ed. Nothing to worry about. I thought I heard mention of King Lune just as I walked in…"

Caspian nodded. "Your sisters were telling me of the King's first visit after your coronation."

The High King's eyes widened. "You didn't?"

Susan chuckled. "Oh, yes I did!"

He shook his head with a rueful grin. "Are you sure you wish to emulate us, Caspian? After all, we did some rather stupid things during our reign…"

Caspian laughed. "I'm sure the good outweighed the stupid, King Peter."

"Oh stop that," Edmund suddenly said, surprising Caspian. "I mean, the 'king' thing. You are now a king too and in private, I don't see why you have to keep calling us 'King Peter' and 'King Edmund'. Honestly."

Caspian tried arguing his point, and in moments he and Edmund were into a laughing debate on when to use titles and when not too. Susan had pulled a tome from the nearest shelf and was reading it and Lucy had spied the young seamstress from the corridor and had dragged her into a corner where they were involved in some sort of discussion.

That left Peter to himself and he soon found his thoughts returning to the garden he and Aslan had retreated to earlier.

_The great lion led Peter to a beautiful apple tree just outside the castle in a secluded courtyard. If he had known it was there, Peter wasn't sure, but it seemed the perfect place to sit and relax._

_As Aslan sat down, Peter reached up and gently tugged an apple from the tree and then joined him, seating himself on the stone bench set near the tree's base. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Aslan?" he said, taking a bite of the apple and smiling at the sweet taste._

_He paused before taking another bite as the lion turned melancholy eyes on him. "You have faced many challenges, both in your world, and in Narnia, Peter," he said quietly. "But I fear you will face even more – and far too soon."_

_The young King stopped eating and focused on the lion. "More? But, I don't understand. We've brought peace to Narnia, what more could there be to face? It ought to be mostly downhill from here."_

_Aslan shook his head. "I do not refer to Narnia, Peter."_

_A lump suddenly formed in Peter's throat. "You mean we aren't staying in Narnia much longer, this time? We'll be going back to our world? When?"_

_The lion shifted, which was unusual for him. "Soon enough, Peter. You'll know the time when it comes. But your next challenge will come to you upon your return and I want you to remember one thing when it does – you never have to face anything alone. And when you one day return to Narnia you will find this world will heal the hurts of yours. Remember that, and take solace in it during your worst days."_

_A frown marred Peter's face. Aslan sounded so – sad. If he had drawn Peter aside to tell him this, then it must be something that would upset the others and that in and of itself made his heart clench in worry._

"_Will I have to go to war again?" He asked the lion, his apple forgotten._

_Aslan looked closely at him. "I cannot tell you what challenge you will face, only that it will save you from a worse fate. Try not to dwell on it and enjoy your remaining time here. I wish I could give you better tidings, but I wish you to have some warning."_

_The lion rose and tossed his head to the side. "I'd best get you back to your brother and sisters," he said. "I would ask you not to discuss this with them, as it will only bring undue hardship on all of you." He sighed a little. "I am sorry I had to burden you with it, but I could not allow you to go in blindly."_

_Peter drew himself up and nodded. "I understand. And I thank you for telling me as much as you could, Aslan. At least I will have something to hold onto when whatever it happens."_

_Aslan nudged Peter affectionately. "You have retained all the wisdom of your older self, Peter. And I am very proud of you, High King. You have turned out to be more than even I had ever hoped for. Now come, your family awaits you."_

"King Peter? King Peeeter. Oh, for the love of, PETER!"

Jerking, the young King nearly toppled from his chair. Caspian was standing before him, the others nowhere in sight. "What?" Peter said, looking up at the young man before him in confusion.

"I've been trying to get your attention," Caspian laughed. "We are all going to eat. I noticed you were not following and came back to fetch you. You must have been deep in thought, you didn't respond to anything I called you until I sounded out 'Peter' just now."

The young man stood and shook his head. "Sorry about that, I was thinking about what Aslan told me. Didn't mean to ignore you." He looked at Caspian as the two walked out. "But hey, it got you to call me just Peter instead of King…"

Caspian laughed. "Not quite. I tried Peter, then King Peter, then High King Peter and you still didn't respond. So I tried King Peter and drew out your name and finally shouted just Peter. You'd think your name had suddenly changed, the way you didn't react!"

They laughed all the way to the banquet hall.

* * *

Waiting outside the hall, where hundreds of voices could be heard mingling into one loud din, were Susan, Lucy and Edmund. When Peter and Caspian arrived, the herald jumped to attention and stepped forward from where he had been standing in the corner.

"Your Majesties," he said, bowing low to both Caspian and Peter. "Are you prepared to enter? If so, I shall begin announcing you in whatever order you choose."

Caspian yet again turned to Peter, who pretended not to notice, forcing Caspian to choose. The young man pursed his lips. "I suppose it would work to announce our guests first." He leaned forward and spoke to the man in quiet tones, then turned to Lucy and smiled. "When you're ready."

She nodded and stood beyond the doors as the herald entered and called out, "Presenting, Her Majesty, Queen Lucy the Valiant of Narnia!" The girl shook her head smiling before walking through the doors in the hall. It had been long since they had been announced into banquet halls, and it was obvious Caspian had told the herald their titles.

Edmund sighed and stepped up, knowing his age put him next.

Lightly rocking on his feet, he waited and soon heard, "Presenting, His Majesty, King Edmund the Just of Narnia!" And he moved through the doorway as Lucy had, his cloak whirling in his wake as he walked.

Susan straightened her gown and pushed a strand of hair back in place before: "Presenting, Her Majesty, Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia!"

Left standing together, Peter turned to Caspian. "I think the first time is the hardest," he said, seeing the nervous twitch in the other King's hands. "Just try not to trip. I nearly did that the first time I was announced into a banquet. It would have been a spectacular fall if I hadn't caught myself."

He hurried to the door as the herald called out, "Presenting, His Majesty, High King Peter the Magnificent of Narnia."

And then Caspian was alone. He took a deep breath and waited for the words he hadn't actually thought he would ever hear. They came before he was quite sure he was ready for them.

"And now, it is my honor to present to you, for the first time, His Majesty, King Caspian the Tenth!"

Caspian's mind told him to turn tail and run, but his feet, thankfully made him move forward through the doors and into the chamber. The Telmarines in attendance, and the Kings and Queens already in the hall, were all standing as he entered and he smiled lightly at them all as he tried not to hurry up to the head table to take his seat.

He noticed everyone waiting until he sat before they retook their seats. And he also noticed, no one moved to eat – because he hadn't told them to, he realized quickly. "Please, eat," he said simply, unsure if he was supposed to say anything more _extravagant_.

There were no gasps of surprise, so he took that as proof enough he'd chosen the correct words. Letting out a small breath of relief, he smiled at Susan sitting next to him and Peter, on his other side, nudged him under the table lightly.

"Relax," the High King muttered, barely moving his mouth.

Soon, conversation began to erupt throughout the room and it was only at the high table that there was still silence. So, Edmund decided to break it and leaned forward to speak to Caspian.

"Is it custom in Telmar to hold tournaments? You know, with jousting and sword duels and the like?"

The young Telmarine King nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "It is a twice-yearly tradition to do so. Champions from each of the districts within the kingdom would travel to the castle to compete."

Peter perked up at that. "Narnia also held tournaments," he said. "We had a joust and sword contests as well. It was amazing to watch some of the fights. If you can imagine it, centaurs and fauns and dwarves all fight in different styles, and when pitted together it was something else."

Lucy patted her brother on the arm. "Peter, here, was practically unbeatable," she said, avoiding the glare her brother sent her. "He only lost once, and even then, he came back and beat the man the next time around."

Glozelle, who was seated on the other side of Lucy, turned toward Peter. "You joust, Your Majesty?"

Peter nodded and Caspian piped up, "Really? I never knew. I never expected. You must be very good to have won so often."

"Oh he was, right from the start. Peter is a natural." Edmund smiled since he was far enough that Peter couldn't prevent him from speaking without leaping from his chair and drawing attention to them. "Why don't you tell them about your first tournament, Peter? You moped and practically wore a crevice in the grass thinking you'd lose miserably. Farthest from the truth, that was."

With a sigh, Peter looked at the excited look in Caspian's eyes and relented. "Oh, all right," he said. "I suppose I could tell the story. After all, if it's a Telmar tradition, you will likely be in my shoes someday."

"_Stop it, Peter!" Susan called out, planting herself right in front of her pacing brother, effectively halting his movement. "People are beginning to stare!" She darted her eyes surreptitiously to the side where there was a delegation from Archenland watching them._

_Peter swallowed and nodded. "Right, sorry. I'm just nervous, Su!" He eyed the Archenlanders out of the corner of his eye, taking in how much taller and muscular their champion looked. "How can I compete against all these…champions!? I'm going to make a fool of myself. They're all going to wonder what that _kid_ is doing as High King of Narnia."_

_General Oreius came up beside his liege. "No they won't," he said sagely. "I have seen each of these champions in action, and I think you will do fine – if not even take the championship."_

_Peter huffed and nodded again before turning and stalking over to his pile of armor, which he knew he would need to start donning if he didn't want to be late to his first event._

_Muttering the whole while, he put on what he could and let Edmund help him with the rest until he was once again decked out in full armor as he had been at Beruna. He squeezed his eyes shut and berated himself for even thinking the _word_ let alone the day. Some fighter he'd been then, couldn't even hold his own again the White Witch._

"_Come, my King, the ring is this way," Oreius said. He was soon joined by Peter's herald, a Faun named Seleyon. "Let King Edmund carry your sword and sheath, you'll draw it at the ring."_

_Peter thrust Rhindon, sheathed, toward Edmund with a grunt. "Here." The young High King hefted his shield in the other hand._

_His brother shook his head at Peter's back as he hurried to follow, Susan and Lucy trailing behind and looking all around at the various beings milling around._

_Peter's first opponent was a knight from Galma. The man was a little taller than Peter, but didn't tower over him. He was broader in the shoulder and his armor seemed to cover more of his chest than what Peter wore. It looked a far sight heavier, to the young King._

_Seleyon stepped up in front of Peter, who had already put his helm on his head and had drawn his sword from its sheath. The Faun cleared his throat and drew attention to himself. _

"_It is my duty, and a great honor, to introduce you to my liege. One who was instrumental in bringing the end of the 100-year winter in Narnia. One who led thousands in battle and brought them to victory. I present to you, High King Peter the Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Duke of Galma and the Seven Isles and Count of the Western Marches!"_

_There was a roar from the crowd that nearly had Peter jumping in surprise. He smiled lightly under his helmet visor and raised a hand in acknowledgement. The Galman champion, who had not yet donned his helmet, stared at Peter in surprise. _

_Perhaps he hadn't realized just _who_ he had been pitted against first?_

_The two combatants entered the ring and circled. Peter, who had been training with Oreius at every opportunity, was still leery about his skills and decided to let the other man make the first move._

_It came soon enough as the man slashed suddenly across his body with blinding speed – but his blade was easily caught by Peter's shield and the High King swung his own blow which the Galman barely dodged._

_The ring became a flurry of blocks, strikes, thrusts and rolls as the two combatants gave and took ground, each scoring hits until they were each one point away from a victory. Peter backed up a moment and took stock of what he had observed of the Galman's fighting style._

He likes to slash across his body, under his shield, _Peter thought to himself. _And the next time, I'll be ready…

_When the next slash came, instead of blocking with his shield, Peter moved _forward_ before the man had even half-way completed the move. Now behind the man's back, he was able to land the winning blow and the crowd erupted in cheers so loud he wouldn't be surprised if his ears were ringing later._

_Both men removed their helmets and Peter nodded respectfully to the man he had just beaten. "You fight very well," he said, unsure what _else_ he could say in this situation._

_The man nodded in thanks. "You as well, High King Peter. Your skill surprised me. I have learned, the hard way, not to underestimate you because of your age…" He ruefully shifted his body against the ache Peter's last blow had started._

_The young High King laughed lightly. "Looks can be deceiving, my good Knight," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my brother and sisters appear to be gesturing. Good luck to you in the joust."_

"_And you, King Peter."_

_He was immediately set upon by three excited siblings as he exited the ring. "That was brilliant, Peter!" Edmund said, slapping his brother on the back. "And you were worried? You didn't even look like his blows were affecting you!"_

_The High King smiled sheepishly. "Edmund, you're embarrassing me!"_

_His brother paid him no mind and kept gushing._

Peter, nudging food around on his plate, shook his head. "Edmund was overly excited for the rest of the tournament. I went on to win the sword contest and then we headed over to the jousting fields. If you think I was worried about the sword, you should have seen me before the joust."

His brother nodded. "Every time someone got hit with a lance, Peter would cringe so hard I thought he was going to turn around and tell us there was no way he was getting up on a horse, grabbing a lance and riding full gallop toward another champion."

"_I can't."_

_Sigh._

"Yes_, you can."_

"_No, I can't."_

"_Yes, you can."_

"_No, I can't."_

"_No, you can't."_

"_Yes, I ca…EDMUND!"_

_Peter smacked his brother in the arm as Edmund started laughing. "Not funny, Edmund. I'm going to get myself killed out there!" He jutted a finger out at the field where two riders were galloping toward each other, lances at the ready, before there was an almighty crash and one combatant was knocked to the ground._

_Edmund shook his head. "No, you might get knocked off your horse, but you aren't going to get killed, Peter."_

_With a huff of indignation, Peter turned away and folded his arms across his chest. "Easy for _you _to say, Ed, you don't have to be the one getting knocked in the chest with a ruddy big stick."_

_There was a chuckle behind him and Peter spun to face Oreius. He glared at the centaur, but it didn't seem to phase the general. "And what is so funny, Oreius," Peter grunted petulantly. "Because I don't really see anything to be laughing about."_

_The centaur sobered. "I'm sorry, my King. But I have never heard a lance referred to as a 'ruddy big stick' and I found it amusing," he said. "But on a serious note, I believe you will also do fine in this event. You have practiced hard and have improved greatly. Your chances are good."_

_Peter saw his banner go up and knew it was time. Seleyon moved off to prepare to announce him and Peter vaulted up onto his horse's back before leaning down to accept the lance from Oreius._

_As the Faun regaled the crowd with Peter's many titles, the High King looked across the field at the champion from Archenland. Then he looked at the blunt tip of his lance and shook his head. "At least it isn't sharp," he said with a weary sigh._

_A satyr carrying a flag walked up to the rail running down the center of the field and Peter nudged his horse to where he would begin his ride. The Archenlander did the same across the field._

_When the flag dropped, Peter kicked the horse into motion and lowered the lance into position, muscles working hard to hold it steady and aimed as the horse galloped along the rail._

_He turned his head to the side at the last second before impact, to avoid any damage to his eyes, and was relieved not to feel anything hit him – though he felt a sharp jerk as the lance he held burst against his opponent's torso._

_Cheers went up around them as he slowed his horse and turned him around. The other champion was still atop his horse and turning as well, a hand pressed to his chest. He looked to be all right, though._

_He quickly made his way back to his brother, who was holding up his next lance, and reached down to take it. Edmund patted his leg in support before Peter once again lined up for his ride._

_The flag dropped._

_Peter kicked his steed into a gallop and set his lance in place._

_He turned his head aside and then…_

_Crash._

_The blow took his breath away and Peter gripped the reins with all his strength and tightened his legs around the horse to keep himself from falling to the ground. Pulling back on the reins, he slowed the horse to a stop and kept his hand against his chest where the lance had hit._

_For what was perhaps the longest ten seconds of his life, he couldn't draw breath. Shifting, his armor moved and he was able to suck in air. He coughed a little and then nudged the horse back toward his side. _

_Across the rail he could see the other champion also holding his chest and Peter realized both had hit their target this time. He had two points, to his opponent's one. He needed one more hit to win, but could still lose as well._

_When he reached Edmund, his brother's eyes were wide and he immediately ran to Peter's side. "Are you all right? Can you breathe? Are you hurt? Peter…"_

_Raising a hand, he halted his brother's tirade. "'m fine, Ed. Got the wind knocked out of me." He held out his hand for the next lance, which Edmund somewhat reluctantly gave him. "Thanks."_

_Breathing easier now, he turned back toward the field and set himself on the horse's back. When the flag fell again, he dug in his heels and the horse shot forward beneath him._

_His mind tried to make his body obey and shy away at the last minute, but his resolve stopped him and he felt the reassuring jolt of a hit as he soared past the other man without being hit himself._

_The cheer was louder than before and Peter turned on the horse's back to see what had happened. He saw a riderless horse. Looking down, the other man was unsteadily lifting himself up on his arms, his helmet off to the side, somewhat bewildered. When he realized he was on the ground, his eyes darted to Peter and his face fell._

_A knock off the horse meant the victor gained ownership of the steed. _

_Peter pulled his helmet off as the cheers continued and slid from the horse's back. He reached his opponent before the man's herald and squires did and extended a hand. Taking it, the man was pulled to his feet by the High King._

"_Good … ride … your Majesty," the man panted, clutching his chest. "Don't … usually … lose." Peter's eyes widened as he took that in. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as he _thought_ he was?_

"_Thank you, good Knight. You drive a good blow yourself," he said with a wan smile. The herald and squires arrived now and steadied the man, the former turning to the King and bowing low. _

"_Sire, you may take the horse as you rightfully won him," the man said._

_The wistful gaze of the knight was not lost on Peter and he shook his head. "I have no need of another mount," he said lightly. "Why don't you keep him?"_

_There were gasps of surprise and for a moment, Peter thought he had grossly breached protocol. But the smile that lit the knight's face made it worth whatever he had done. The Archenland champion bowed low. _

"_High King Peter, I cannot express enough gratitude for this," he said. "My King will hear of your greatness, your Majesty. Thank you, Sire."_

_Peter nodded and led his own horse back toward Edmund, Oreius, Susan and Lucy. The centaur general shook his head. "Only you," he said fondly. "Most would take the horse without a backwards glance. My King, you never cease to amaze me."_

_The young High King shrugged. "I really _don't_ need another horse!"_

Caspian was laughing heartily.

"That was very noble of you, King Peter," he said with a smile.

Peter nodded back. "Yes, well. I had the opportunity again the following year to take that very same horse from that very same champion. But again, I didn't need another horse."

The rest of the meal went well and soon it was time to retire for the night.

Rising, Caspian turned to the Pevensies. "The herald can show you to your rooms," he said. "I would do it myself, but I did not see my aunt here and I wish to check and see if she is well. So if you would excuse me…"

They nodded and the five monarchs went their separate ways – Caspian to find his aunt, Susan and Lucy to one chamber and Peter and Edmund to another.

_A/N: So, another chapter done. And I would say at least three more, but I'm not positive on that since I tend to add scenes as I go that I hadn't planned on. (I.E. the tournament…)_


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews! They are very much appreciated. I try to reply to them, sorry if I missed you. Solstice, since your reviews are anon, I can't reply, but I want you to know they mean so_ much _to me!! Enough of that gushing, on with the chapter!_

**Part Twenty-Two:**

He had already counted the knots in the wooden door and had moved on to tallying cracks. Shifting from foot to foot, he muttered, "Just knock. Knock on the door, Caspian."

The young King poised his hand inches from the solid door but still couldn't bring himself to connect with it. Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair.

"Come _on,_ Caspian," he grunted. "It's not that difficult. It's a door. She's your aunt. You didn't even hesitate for a moment to run headlong into battle against a foe twice as strong. But you can't bring yourself to knock on a _door_?"

Scrunching his nose, he straightened up and raised his hand again, this time succeeding in moving it forward – only to have the door swing open and his hand meet air as a body, head bowed, hurried through and knocked straight into him.

Caspian, startled, toppled backward and landed hard on his backside.

"Caspian!" A woman's voice exclaimed, before amending, "I…I mean, Your Majesty. Please…please forgive me, I didn't know you were there."

The young King looked up, wincing at the smarting pain. "Quite all right. My fault really. Lingering in front of your doorway as I was," he said, dragging himself to his feet and wishing nothing more than to rub away the pain – but refraining from it in light of _where_ said pain was located. "I was hoping to speak with you," the young man said. "I did not see you at dinner."

Prunaprismia frowned, but drew back into her room and held the door open to Caspian. Stepping through, he couldn't help the shudder than ran through his frame as he remembered the last time he'd been in this room.

The woman shut the door behind him and hurried to the far corner where a bassinet had been set up. Reaching down, she pulled her infant son out and held him to her breast defensively.

"What can I do for you, Your Majesty?" the woman asked, eying him from the corner but making no move to come closer to him.

Caspian swallowed the lump in his throat and raised his hands in a sign of peace. "I just wish to speak with you," he said quietly. "I wanted to make sure you had everything you need for yourself and for the baby."

There was a derisive snort.

"I need my husband," she said callously. "Can you bring him to me? Oh, no…you can't. He's dead." She turned away. "Nothing is the same and nothing ever will be, Caspian. Nothing you can give me will be able to replace the hole in my heart."

Caspian hung his head. "I am sorry. I never wished for many of the things that happened to happen," he said, trembling. After a moment he looked up again. "But what was I supposed to do? Miraz sent archers to my room the night your son was born. I watched them fire arrow after arrow into my empty bed, thinking I was in it."

He stepped closer. "I _am_ sorry for his death, if only because it hurts you and leaves _him_ without a father. I know the pain of growing up without parents. No one, no matter how hard they try … or don't try … can replace a real parent."

Prunaprismia looked up as Caspian drew nearer, a moment of fear crossing her face before she beat it down and straightened up. "What do you want from me, King Caspian?" she asked again.

Sighing, Caspian drew to a halt. "I want to know what I must do in order for you to be happy."

She walked past him and to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He followed her, coming to a halt just inside and keeping his distance from his aunt and the child.

"My future went from a Queen, who knew her son would want for nothing in life, to a widow whose son is nothing more than a threat to the new King of Telmar's reign," she didn't look at Caspian as she continued. "What will you do when he gets older, should he wish to take the throne? Will you have him killed? Exiled?"

Caspian was shaking his head. "No, I would never. I could never," he hesitated, realizing he had made just as poor a suggestion not that long ago. Shaking the thought, he continued. "I had thought of naming him my heir, as I do not have one and should something happen to me, there would need to be someone next in line for the throne."

That made Prunaprismia turn around. "You did? It would be foolish."

He frowned. "Why?"

With a shake of her head, she spun back around and muttered, "A boy king," before continuing louder. "Surely you realize that if you were to do such a thing, you would be setting yourself up for a revolt later in life," she said. "Think about it, any lord displeased with you could rally behind an heir. Almost as the Narnians rallied behind you, I expect."

Caspian cringed as he realized the validity of her words. He didn't reply. Instead, he stepped out onto the balcony. "What would you have me do? Do you wish to remain in the castle? I will not cast you from the only home you know…"

The woman looked down at the cherub-faced baby in her arms.

"I do not think I can be comfortable here," she said quietly, all fight seemingly gone from her now. "These _Narnians_ are the stuff of nightmares and I do not think I will ever sleep easy if they are around. Even if you say they are honorable and not the beasts we were taught to believe, I cannot change a lifetime of fear."

She pulled back the blanket from the young baby's face. "I cannot remain in fear for _him_ for the rest of my life," she turned toward Caspian and finally looked up at him. "But I shall do whatever you wish of me, King Caspian."

The young King reached forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I too feared the Narnians," he said. "But all it took was a short time in their presence to realize they are not what we thought. I ask you to give them a chance. Help Queens Susan and Lucy prepare the banquet feast for three days hence. If, when the feast is ended, you are still uncomfortable, I will do all in my power to find a place for you and your son where you will feel safe and prosper as long as you both live."

He let go. "It is all I can offer you," he added quietly.

She swallowed hard and then nodded shallowly. "I will do as you ask, King Caspian. Tell Their Majesties to meet me in the Great Hall in the morning and I will aid them in preparing the banquet."

Caspian smiled lightly. "Thank you, Aunt Pru."

He would have liked to have spoken more. To have told her he wished he could bring her husband back, if only to make her happy, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

This woman had been charged with his care all his life, and while she did not hate him, she had not loved him like a son either. And while he cared for her, Miraz's betrayal was still too near.

He bowed lightly to her and returned to the chamber door.

Before he walked through, he turned back to her. "What is the baby's name?"

Looking up, Prunaprismia's eyes shone with pain. "Miraz. The second."

Caspian's heart lurched, but he only nodded in response, unable to form words. Walking through the door, he pulled it closed behind him and then leaned heavily against the stone wall beside it.

* * *

"Ed, for the last time, _**stop hovering**_!"

Peter stopped walking abruptly and Edmund was hard-pressed not to bowl into him. The High King tapped his foot on the ground and waited. And waited some more.

"Edmund…" he growled. "_Beside_ or _in front_ of me. There is no need to hold out your hands to catch me, I'm not going to fall."

With a sigh, Edmund drew abreast of his brother.

"Don't come crying to me if you _do_ fall over then," he said grumpily. "I'm warning you, Peter, I know your 'I'm-so-tired-I'm-going-to-fall-over' look and it's the one you have on now."

Peter mock shooed him and then laughed. "Come on. I _am_ tired, so we best be getting to our room. The herald said it was the third door on the right. Which would be…this one."

The young High King pushed open the door and the brothers both peeked their heads through, taking in the décor. Two beds were situated one on each side, with the foot of both pointing toward the middle of the room. Each occupant had a comfortable chair, a wardrobe, a desk and mirror. There was a small doorway on the right that they assumed was a washroom.

Peter raised his hands and in a chanting voice: "Praise Aslan! There are beds. With sheets. And blankets that aren't full of leaves or dirt. Oh, and look, Ed, actual sleep clothes!"

In his excitement, Peter hurried into the room and even Edmund's cry of warning wasn't in time to stop what happened next. His foot caught on the woven rug and Peter toppled forward, thrusting his hands out instinctively to catch his fall.

As weight fell on his left arm, Peter cried out and the limb buckled under him, his shoulder slamming into the edge of the dais the bed was sitting atop.

The pain was so intense, for a few seconds he couldn't even draw breath. His body had seized up and was shaking. Edmund was on the ground at his side in seconds, calling out, "Peter. Peter, can you hear me? Peter?"

Hands were on him then, lifting and he whimpered as he started to return to himself. Once Edmund had him sitting up, he turned pain-filled eyes on the younger boy.

"I…sh…shoulda lis…listened," he stuttered, clenching his teeth against another cry of pain and pulling his left arm in tight to his body, afraid to move even a hairs-breadth in any direction.

Edmund was pulling at his coronation tops to get a look at the wound and he gasped in dismay when he saw blood seeping through the light blue undershirt.

"Pete," he said quietly. "Oh, Peter. I swear next time I am _so_ not listening to you. You've gone and opened it up again." He stood, gently pulling Peter to his feet. "Come on, sit on the bed. I'll take care of it and then you can go to sleep."

When there was no argument, not even an "I'm fine" from Peter, Edmund knew his brother was overly tired. As if the trip hadn't already told him that…

"Here," he said, holding out a handful of bandage. "Hold this until I ask for it." Peter lightly clutched the bandage in his right hand, his left still pulled in tight.

Many winces, grunts, whimpers and jerks later, Edmund was pulling Peter's tunic and then his undershirt over his brother's head. He quickly re-wrapped the wound with the clean bandage and tied it tightly, making Peter strangle a yelp, before slipping a white night shirt over Peter's head.

He moved down and helped Peter with his leggings, steadfastly ignoring the blush on the High King's face as he helped him step into the white sleep pants.

"There," the younger King said. "How does that feel?"

Peter eyed him blearily. "'S good," he muttered. "But I think it'd feel better if I was lying down." He held out a hand for Edmund to help him, which the younger boy readily did.

As soon as the High King's head hit the pillow, his eyes drifted shut and he subconsciously burrowed as deeply into the mattress as he could, tugging the blanket up to his chin and twisting until he was comfortable.

Edmund stared down at his brother, pursing his lips. When he was sure the other King would not wake up, roll out of bed and injure himself again, or start tossing in the throes of a nightmare, the Just King turned to change his own clothes and climb into the bed across the way.

He was just about to lay down when his eyes fell on the sleeping Peter yet again. With a small sigh, he tossed aside his blankets and took a step back to the other side of the room. Hesitating, he contemplated for a moment and then grabbed the blanket from his bed and took it with him.

Settling into the chair beside Peter's bed, he drew his legs up and curled sideways on the seat. Draping the blanket over himself, he rested his head against the back of the chair and set a hand onto Peter's outstretched right arm.

The High King twitched, but did not wake.

Still frowning, Edmund scrunched his eyebrows before making yet another decision. Pulling off his blanket, he slowly and carefully climbed on Peter's bed, the large mattress only slightly dipping under his weight.

Turning on his side to face his brother, and dragging his blanket over himself, he set his hand back on Peter's arm and smiled lightly. That felt about right.

If Peter so much as moved, Edmund would know it right away. With that in mind, the younger King smiled lightly, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

* * *

Susan glanced toward the entrance to the hall again. It was getting late and none of the boys had shown up to breakfast yet. She was beginning to wonder if there had been some change of plans that she and Lucy had not been informed of.

"Maybe they just overslept a bit," Lucy said, nibbling on a piece of toast beside her sister. "I mean, it isn't totally unlike Peter and Edmund to be last to breakfast."

The older Queen shook her head. "Yes, well, I should think after we embarrassed them with that story of King Lune's visit that they would be more inclined to follow protocol, at least for a little while."

Lucy opened her mouth to reply but was cut off as the herald from the night before pushed open the doors and everyone jumped to their feet. "Announcing, His Majesty, King Edmund of Narnia."

Ed, grumbling and blinking his eyes tiredly, hurried past the man and up to the table where Susan and Lucy were waiting. He nodded to them and sat down, everyone else following suit soon after.

"You, brother, are late," Susan said, trying to sound annoyed, but unable to really achieve it as she took in her brother's somewhat bedraggled appearance. "Edmund, did you get _any _sleep?"

His toast stopped midway to his mouth and he looked over at his older sister. "Uhm…"

She shook her head. "Ed."

"What!" He said, waving his hand and spreading crumbs along the table. "I had to take care of our dear brother, who was so very tired and yet so very stubborn, that he toppled over in our room and reopened his shoulder wound."

Lucy and Susan gasped. "Oh, no!" Lucy exclaimed. "Is he all right?"

Edmund, seeing that perhaps that hadn't been the best way to break the news, nodded quickly. "Oh yes, he's fine, Lu. But he was still sleeping soundly when I woke up, so I decided to let him sleep in. One missed breakfast isn't going to amount to much."

His sisters didn't look completely convinced, but they were prevented from any further inquiries as the doors to the hall flew open and a harried Caspian practically hurtled through them.

As he moved forward, the herald, somewhat at a loss, called out in a rush. "Uh…announcing, His Majesty, King Caspian!"

The young King ground to a halt, eyes widening as he realized he hadn't waited to be announced, just burst into the hall in his attempts to get to breakfast at least somewhat on time.

Meeting Edmund, Susan and Lucy's amused eyes, the wild look left Caspian's and he let a small, rueful grin cross his face. "Please excuse me," he said aloud, not bothering to hide his rush toward the head table this time.

Slumping into a chair, he felt like letting his head fall into his hand, but thought he probably shouldn't breach anymore rules or customs or traditions or silly old "a-King-shouldn't-do-this-or-that's".

Edmund smiled and shook his head. He could remember many a meal that he or Peter had run into, forcing a herald to speak at alarming speeds to announce them before they got too far.

He decided to cut the new King a little slack and didn't comment on his _grand_ entrance. Caspian, calmer now, straightened up and glanced at the empty chair to his right.

"Where is Peter?" he asked, eyes darting to Edmund first.

The younger King explained what had happened last night. "I let him sleep. Knowing Peter, he'll be up in a few hours at the latest. He'll be fine with all that rest."

The Telmarine King nodded, but made no move to answer. Edmund, somewhat surprised by that, looked up and found Caspian's eyes riveted on the entrance to the hall.

Clearing his throat, the herald spoke. "Announcing, Her Maj…erm…the Lady Prunaprismia." His voice fell oddly flat at the end, as if he wasn't sure he'd done the announcement right.

Standing in the doorway, the former Queen looked younger than her years and strangely lost. Her eyes darted to the herald, who bit his lip but said nothing.

Gathering herself, she walked forward, veering for the head table.

Caspian, Susan, Lucy and Edmund's eyes followed her progress across the hall. The former had cringed at the fumble the herald made, and wondered if he should speak with the man about what titles would be changing before the next meal.

When Prunaprismia reached the table, she dipped a shallow curtsy and then stood straight again, eyes glancing with slight disdain on Lucy. Caspian wondered what _that_ was about, but was glad it didn't appear to bother the girl.

"I am prepared to aid the Narnian queens, as requested, King Caspian," she said, no pleasure in her monotone voice. "If they are finished eating, there is quite a lot to do and it wouldn't be prudent to dally."

Susan and Lucy exchanged glances, the latter's clearly stating to her sister, _Oh, this is going to be so much __fun__…_But both girls cast smiles on the former queen and stood.

"We are ready, Lady Prunaprismia. But before we go, we must collect King Caspian's new Castelaine," Susan said, nodding lightly toward the young Miriam seated with her father.

Caspian and Edmund watched as the three females collected Miriam and left before looking at one another. "I hope that I made the right choice, asking her to help them," the Telmarine King said wearily. "She used to be so different. I do not know this woman that she has become."

Edmund patted the older King's arm. "Tragedy can change a person, Caspian," the boy said. "Give her time and she might become the aunt you remembered."

Seeing that the other King was still melancholy, and noticing Glozelle at a nearby table, Edmund suddenly grinned devilishly.

"I'm feeling a bit over-energetic," the Just King said, standing. "I fancy a bit of light swordplay. Care to join me, King Caspian? I was thinking of asking General Glozelle to give me a challenge."

Caspian's eyes lit up at the prospect of watching his former teacher's well-known prowess and the legendary skills of King Edmund pitted against one another.

"I should like to see this," he said, standing as well and following the younger King to where Glozelle had until recently been seated with his daughter. He looked up as the Kings approached and hurried to stand and bow.

"King Caspian, King Edmund. How may I be of service?" Glozelle asked, brows furrowed at the oddly exuberant look in the younger King's eyes. Something told him this was either going to be a lot of fun, or quite painful.

Edmund glanced around, careful not to announce his intentions too loudly for fear they would end up with quite an audience. "I had hoped you were well enough for a little two-sword action," Edmund said. "It's been too long since I've had good competition. Two swords are definitely _not_ Peter's forte."

For a moment, he thought Glozelle would try to bow out. After all, it wasn't everyday someone was asked to duel a King, let alone one who, tales told, was exceptional with two swords.

But the man only smiled lightly and nodded in agreement. "I would enjoy that, as well, my liege," he said. "Shall we meet on the training ground in ten minutes? Light armor?"

Edmund nodded. "That ought to do. We aren't going to be all out dueling, since I don't' think either of us are up to par yet," the young King said, indicating his still sore arm. "I'd say arm and shin protection ought to cover it."

The three broke up, Caspian following Edmund to the chamber he shared with Peter since the younger King wasn't familiar with the castle layout and would never find the training fields in ten minutes if left to his own devices.

Pushing the door open quietly, Edmund poked his head in through the crack and then stood straight and huffed. "He's not here," he said. "I wonder where he went?"

Caspian shrugged. "Perhaps he needed some time alone?"

Edmund let out a short sigh. "I suppose," he said, now pushing open the door and entering the room. "I'm being silly, really, but I just don't like to let him out of my sight. Ever since we were told he was dead."

A hand came down on his shoulder. "You are not being silly, Edmund," the Telmarine King said firmly. "You have every right to not want your brother far from your side. I would feel the same, I think. But come, the day is beautiful and this is the first day where we do not have a battle hanging over our heads."

The younger King nodded with a small smile as he placed his last piece of armor onto his forearm, and pointed with a finger toward the chair beside his bed. "Can you grab my swords?" He said, distracted by an unusually uncooperative clasp.

When the two sheathed swords were suddenly thrust under his nose, he jumped in surprise and yelped. "Don't _do_ that!" He laughed out, reaching for the blades and strapping them to himself.

Caspian laughed. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head.

The two Kings hurried out of the room and through the corridors to the training field.

* * *

Queen Lucy the Valiant wanted nothing more than to scream in frustration. The preparations for the banquet were actually going well – that wasn't the root of her exasperation.

The woman currently debating the menu with Susan was the problem. She had yet to so much as acknowledge either Lucy or Miriam, and the young Queen was nearly finished being patient.

"So tell me again," Miriam chimed in from beside Lucy, who was holding out two table linens. "The one that has the gold embroidery is for when the guests include foreign royalty. And the one with silver edging, is for any other guests?"

Lucy smiled and nodded. "Yes, just try to remember that gold signifies royalty. Sort of like, gold is more precious than silver, and royalty is higher ranking than not."

The young Telmarine was a quick study and Lucy was glad for it since she was still rather distracted by being cast aside by the former Telmarine queen.

As she was about to show Miriam the various pieces of place settings, she heard something that peaked her interest.

"And of course, as is custom, the main course must include a portion of lion's meat…"

Letting out a sharp breath, Lucy handed Miriam the fork in her hand and turned around, speaking as she did so.

"I think it would please the Narnians attending if we refrained from serving lion's meat," Lucy said firmly. "Considering Aslan _is _a lion, it just wouldn't do."

The Telmarine woman frowned. "Lion's meat is a Telmarine delicacy," she countered. "It is customary to serve it at state functions." She turned away and began explaining the reasons lion's meat was essential to Susan, but Lucy came around the table and stepped in front of her.

"I am able to make decisions here as well, ma'am," the youngest Queen stated in an even tone as Prunaprismia frowned at her. "My head does more than just hold up my crown."

Turning to her sister, she continued. "I'm sure Queen Susan will agree, serving lion's meat to Narnians would be highly disrespectful and it would not due for King Caspian to make such a blunder at his first state function, would it?"

Prunaprismia seemed to study Lucy a little closer now. The nine-year-old was much shorter than the dark-haired Telmarine woman, but when she spoke she sounded older.

Preparations forgotten, the woman crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "How could Narnia ever get things accomplished with children as rulers? And four of them, at that?"

"Perhaps if history had not been destroyed or suppressed, you would know the answer to your own question, Lady Prunaprismia."

Lucy whirled around and saw Peter leaning on the doorframe. His pose was casual, but the look on his face was anything but. She wondered how long he had been listening.

His gaze fell on her. "Is everything all right? Coming along?"

Lucy nodded. "Things were going wonderfully until we came to the question of serving lion's meat as part of the main course," the youngest Queen said. "I already told Lady Prunaprismia that it would be disrespectful."

Peter nodded. "Very," he said, looking to the woman. "Is there a reason you continued to press the issue?"

Huffing, the woman nodded. "Yes, there is, lion's meat is a Telmarine custom. King Caspian is a Telmarine King and this is a Telmarine castle." She looked at the blonde before her, her eyes betraying how uncomfortable she was beginning to feel surrounded by Narnians.

Peter saw this, and backed up out of the doorway a little. "Ma'am, this is no longer a kingdom made up entirely of Telmarines. Compromises will have to be made, and this is going to have to be one of the first."

Turning to Lucy and Susan, he nodded. "Let me know if you need anything," he said, then turned and walked away.

Prunaprismia looked ready to leave the room, but she held herself back. Shaking her head, she looked toward Lucy. "Is that how it worked? Your brother, the High King, came in and had the final say? I could see that, he at least is not so much a child."

Lucy sighed. "You keep saying that," she said. "Yes, we are young, but even the very young can have wisdom. We ruled Narnia for 15 years and in those years the kingdom prospered. Perhaps you should not speak about what you don't know, ma'am."

Turning away, she handed a swatch of table linen to Susan. "I need some fresh air. I'll be in the courtyard near the apple tree. I'm sorry."

Susan gripped her sister's hand and then let her go. She knew how hard it was for Lucy to come to grips with the fact she was only nine again. Prunaprismia's attitude was only exacerbating the problem.

With a weary sigh, Susan turned back around. "You do not have to like us, ma'am, but you _do _have to respect us. Please try to remember that. Now, there will be no lion's meat in the main course, but if a Telmarine should privately request it, they will not be denied. We still have to decide on the linens."

* * *

The clang of metal on metal filled the air, every so often punctuated by voices and even a few outright laughs. With the threat of war behind them, soldiers were no longer stony-faced as they practiced, and taking a leaf out of the Narnian King and the Telmarine General's book, they were enjoying their practice bouts.

"I used _this_ move against one of the Giants in Ettinsmoor," explained King Edmund as he swiftly and precisely slashed with one sword, then the other, nearly clipping Glozelle, who had to leap backwards to avoid the blows.

The man smiled broadly, contemplating the move. "Do that again," he said, gesturing with one of his swords. The young King obliged, moving in with the same strikes – only this time he ended up with one of Glozelle's swords pointed at his chest and the other locking up Edmund's primary sword hand. "If I do _that_, your move is useless."

Disengaging and wiping sweat from his eyes, Edmund smiled. "I like that move, general, could you explain to me what you just did?"

The man nodded. "Certainly," and launched into the fine details of the foot work, blade work and timing required to use the technique properly.

Off to the side, Caspian was leaning against a tree just on the edge of the training field and watching as the two swordsmen danced circles around each other, thrusting, blocking, swinging and occasionally ducking or jumping away from blades.

Neither were trying very hard to hit the other, since they were not fully armored, but there had been a few very close calls so far and Caspian hoped nothing happened to Edmund – he didn't want to be at the receiving end of Peter's reaction.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded in his ear.

"You know, Caspian, he wasn't _always_ that good." From behind the tree, Peter emerged and took a seat beside the other King. "It took a while for both of us to really find our rhythm."

Turning their gazes toward the practice duel, both Kings were silent as Edmund once again brought Glozelle to a standstill, one of the young King's blades hovering above the man's heart.

Peter recognized the move that Edmund had just employed and cringed a little as he recalled the first time it had been used – the result being spectacularly unsuccessful.

Edmund must have seen the blonde King because he called an end to the bout and, sheathing his blades, hurried over to the two older Kings, Glozelle following a little more slowly.

"Peter!" the dark-haired Pevensie called. "Where were you? I went back to the room and you were nowhere to be found. I was getting worried."

Peter shook his head lightly. "You look terribly worried, Ed," he laughed, looking pointedly at his brother and his former sparring partner. "But if you must know, I woke, asked a servant where the kitchens were and proceeded to raid them, since I missed breakfast. Then I checked on the girls before asking another servant where I might find you all."

As Glozelle and Edmund took deep swigs of water, the former turned to the young King. "You are very good," he said, still slightly out of breath from the bout. "I cannot fathom how you can be so good, and yet so young."

Flopping to the ground beside Peter, Edmund shielded his eyes from the sun and replied, "I started training with Oreius not long after our coronation. Since I was so small, taking full blows with a shield wasn't working out for me. But I was short and fast, so two blades was the obvious choice. We reigned for 15 years, so I had plenty of time to get better."

He saw the look in Peter's eyes as it emerged, but he couldn't speak up in time to stop his brother. The older King smiled and patted Edmund's leg. "King Edmund here wasn't always as good as you see, General. I seem to recall a time when he thought he was better than he was during a practice bout."

Edmund groaned. "No, Peter, not that one. Any story but that one."

"You tell it or _I_ will," the older brother said, dancing his hand away before Edmund could slap it. Peter smiled at the resignation on the younger King's face and leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest and trying to hide the wince that action caused.

He appeared to have succeeded because Edmund sat up and began telling the story with a brief glare in Peter's direction as he did so.

_Edmund could feel the sweat trickling from under his light helmet as he danced away from one of Sacson's blades, then blocked the second blade with one of the two he held._

_The Faun soldier was second only to Oreius when it came to dueling with two swords, and he had agreed to give Edmund a chance to try out his skills against a formidable dual sword-wielding opponent._

_The young King had sparred against Peter, but his brother employed a longer sword and his shield and this, he was finding, was completely different._

_Edmund had been training in dual sword combat for months now and he was getting pretty good at it, or so he told himself. He often watched Oreius and Sacson practicing with each other, or simply going through their techniques against an invisible enemy._

_He watched so often, that he knew many of their moves by heart._

_Frowning as he was driven back again, the young King set his jaw and decided to try and take the offensive._

_Raising his swords and shifting into a firm stance, he went over the move he was going to use in his head just before Sacson lunged forward with one sword, which Edmund blocked, and swung with the other._

_Edmund blocked the second blow and then spun, bringing both swords around and using the momentum of his spin and the strength of both swords to push Sacson's leading sword away from his body._

_He saw the opening the move made, just as he had seen it make when Oreius did it, and he pulled his right arm in the opposite direction as he had also seen done – only to find he couldn't do it._

_A jarring blow caught him off guard and he felt his hand go lax. Before he could clench the hand, the sword fell from his grasp and plummeted to the ground, the sharp edge of the blade slicing deeply into the top of his right foot as it hit._

_Edmund dropped like a sack of potatoes, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping against the sharp pain as his hands immediately sought the wound. His hands grew slippery as blood poured from the wound._

_He was vaguely aware of a body falling to the ground beside him and pulling his hand away from the injured foot. "Edmund, can you hear me? Ed?"_

_Peter._

"_I…I…ouch," he said, or rather yelped by the end._

"_You just had to try it," his brother muttered under his breath. "I _know_ that isn't one of the moves that Oreius taught you. Why'd you do it, Ed? You could have been badly hurt."_

_Edmund hissed as Peter tightened a makeshift bandage around the wounded foot. Wincing as his brother drew him up and waved off any help, he stuttered. "I…I got impatient. I…thought I knew it. Could do it."_

_A deep voice chimed in from behind the two brothers._

"_You do not have the muscle strength or skill to execute that move, King Edmund," Oreius said, following as the boys moved toward the castle healer's chambers. "In time, you will gain the ability, but that is why I did not teach that technique to you. Perhaps this is a lesson well learned?"_

_Edmund nodded vigorously._

"Of course, he went ahead a few months later and tried yet another move he hadn't been taught. Luckily it only resulted in his falling flat on his face," Peter laughed, mock wincing when Edmund _did _smack him in the leg this time.

The other boy frowned. "He makes it sound like I was regularly disobedient," the younger King said with a chuckle. "I only did it once…in a while."

Peter shook his head. "That first time though, definitely took the prize. I was shouting his name when I saw him go down, and he didn't answer. For a moment I thought he was dying because I saw this red pool start to form under him. I was most relieved to see it was only a flesh wound."

His brother huffed indignantly. "Only a flesh wound, Peter? This is the same wound that made you fawn over me like I was critically injured or something? The same one that left a three-inch scar across the top of my foot?" He smacked Peter again.

"Hey!" the blonde King laughed, shifting his position so he was out of arm's reach. "All right, it was a bit more than a simple flesh wound. Happy now?"

Edmund sniffed and nodded. "Yes. It'll do."

Glozelle and Caspian both shook their heads at the two Kings as the four of them got to their feet and started back toward the castle to wash up for lunch.

The Telmarine king and general chuckled yet again when they saw Peter sling his good arm over Edmund's shoulder and say, "Edmund. I think we need to have a conversation about sleeping arrangements, if that blanket was anything to go by…"

If this is how they acted when out from under pressure, how had Narnia survived its Golden Age?

_A/N: We have a lot of painting to do here at home, and I have a lot of errands to run, so I'm uncertain if we'll be able to post again tomorrow night. I hope to, but I just never know! We're getting there...but all you wonderful people who said you want this to go on forever are rubbing off on me because it just keeps growing..._


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Ok, I sliced my hand working on the house so I didn't update last night and I had some trouble typing tonight's chapter. You might have to wait a bit if it doesn't get better quickly. Not too long, I couldn't force myself to stay away. I hope this ties up some loose ends that hadn't been talked about and I hope you all enjoy it!_

**Part Twenty-Three:**

Lucy took another bite of the apple she had plucked from the tree in the courtyard. Sitting cross-legged on the ground at the foot of the tree, she plucked another blade of grass and twisted it around between her thumb and forefinger.

"Lucy?"

Startled, the young Queen craned her neck around and saw her sister entering the small clearing. Looking away, she started her twiddling again as Susan sat beside her on the ground.

"Lucy."

Refusing to give in, the younger Queen still said nothing.

"Lucy Pevensie. Don't ignore me."

Chagrined, Lucy looked up and sighed. "Sorry, Susan. I'm not so sure I want to talk right now. I've got a lot on my mind."

Her sister frowned. "Getting some of it _off _your mind may help, Lu. And I'm here for you. Please let me help. I hate to see you upset."

The youngest Queen tossed the blade of grass down and leaned back against the tree with another sigh. She'd been sighing a lot lately. "It's nothing much, Susan. Just thinking about what Prunaprismia said about us being too young to rule. And how I sure _acted_ like a child when I said what I did to Peter before the raid. I was childish and rude and just plain horrible about it."

Susan's breath caught as memories of Peter's paralysis came back to her in a rush. She glanced sidelong at her sister and remembered what she had felt when Peter had told them about his legs.

"Lucy," she said quietly. "I think it might help you to know I was acting rather childishly that day too. You didn't see it, but Edmund did."

Her sister looked up at her, eyes wide and curious. "How did you act childish, Susan? You are always so grown up to me. I've never seen you do something so stupid like I did with Peter."

"Yes, well. When you ran off upset, I was still so angry that I told Edmund I couldn't go after you because I was afraid of how I might react. Or what I might say," she said, looking at Lucy's crestfallen expression. "Oh, Lu, I'm over it now, but then I was very upset with you."

_As Edmund disappeared toward the Stone Table chamber, Susan turned her attention back to her sleeping older brother. Sitting down beside his pallet, she reached out and took his hand in hers, pausing when he stirred._

_Biting her lip, she waited for him to stop shifting and then tightened her grip on the hand in hers and frowned at how it wasn't all that much bigger than her own. "Peter, I'm so angry," she said suddenly, but quietly so as not to wake him. "I can't believe what Lucy said. I let Ed go to her because I was afraid I would say horrible things to her. I'm _still_ afraid of that. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I see her next."_

_Sighing, she leaned back against the wall behind her._

_Her thoughts drifted to the look in Peter's eyes when he had told them about his legs. Haunted eyes, as blue as the sea below Cair Paravel. There had been fear, regret, pain, and desperation in his eyes and it had shaken her to the core._

"_All because of a few angry words," she whispered. "My brother was distracted because of silly words, probably said in the heat of the moment. Why did you do it, Lu?"_

_Susan ran her free hand through her hair. It was unusual for her to be mad at her younger sister. Lucy was usually so – perfect – that there was no cause to get angry at her. This was the first time she could remember feeling like she wanted to yell at Lucy._

_The older Queen knew her sister was upset by Peter's lack of belief in her, but that didn't make her words right. She knew Lucy was still young, but that didn't dispel the anger she was still feeling._

"So…you eventually did stop being angry at me," Lucy said quietly. "What changed your mind?"

Susan smiled at her. "Edmund, of course," she said. "He had a few choice words for me one night when you and Peter were asleep. Reminded me that Peter was partly to blame for his distraction and that sometimes we say things we don't mean."

Lucy nodded. "Do you think that perhaps Lady Prunaprismia is just upset and doesn't mean what she said today? About us being too young to be good Kings and Queens?"

Her sister shook her head. "No, I think that _is_ really what she believes, Lucy. But you have to remember, she knows next to nothing about Narnians, us or the Golden Age of our rule. She is basing her words on what she knows, and perhaps a nine-year-old Telmarine girl would _not_ make a good Queen. Don't let it get to you, Lu. It isn't worth it. Let's enjoy this beautiful day, enjoy Narnia while we still can."

Lucy nodded and then, on a whim, scooped up a handful of crisp leaves and tossed them at her sister with a laugh. "When did you get boring again, Susan? Too much talking, we need to have some more fun."

The elder Queen laughed with her sister and returned fire, for the moment letting themselves be the kids Prunaprismia saw them as.

* * *

_Three days later…_

Peter, Edmund and Caspian were all leaning against the battlements at the top of the highest tower, looking down over the rest of the castle and the Narnian encampment just beyond the gates.

The three were comfortably discussing small matters of ruling and so far, it appeared Caspian had a real feeling for what he was going to have to do as King. Peter stepped back from his position and moved away from the side to lean against the wall by the door.

"And of course, Caspian, you'll need to practice making speeches," he said, throwing another ruling must off the top of his head. "I remember the first one I made, I was so nervous I mistakenly called a Baron a Duke and he wasn't too thrilled with that."

Edmund and Caspian pulled back now too, the latter frowning. "Does the King always have to give a speech? At every function?"

The High King nodded. "Oh yes, it is expected that the King will say a few words. Ed and I were lucky, we could switch off sometimes. But for the most auspicious events, it fell on me as High King to regale the crowd with witty words."

Edmund chimed in, "Just like _you_ get to do at tonight's feast!"

Caspian's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Peter cocked his head to the side. "Tonight's feast? You know, the one you called for when we arrived here? The reason Susan and Lucy have been running around wildly trying to get everything in place? That feast? Surely you knew you'd have to say something."

The Telmarine King swallowed. "It must have slipped my mind," he said, turning back toward the battlements and leaning back out to hide the shell-shocked expression on his face. "Does it have to be … long?"

Peter chuckled. "No. But it should be inspiring," he said, pushing Caspian lightly aside and sharing his spot. "Something that will get Narnians and Telmarines thinking about joining forces. I'm sure you'll think of something, Caspian. You've done amazing so far with what you've said to the masses."

Nodding, Caspian sighed and leaned forward more, seeing Susan and Lucy in the courtyard below, laughing about something. "There are times when I think I am going to like being a King," he said suddenly. "And then there are times when I think I am going to wish I was anything but…"

Edmund and Peter laughed.

"We know," they said together, erupting into more laughs at that.

"You'll do fine," Edmund added, patting Caspian on the shoulder before returning to the edge of the tower and quietly leaning back out to gaze on the countryside again. They lapsed back into their comfortable silence.

* * *

Four hours later, Caspian decided he was anything but fine.

He had taken to muttering the lines of his speech under his breath and Peter and Edmund were watching with amusement as Lucy and Susan wondered if they should say something to the nervous King.

After he paced yet again across the foyer outside the banquet hall, Edmund decided enough was enough and stepped into the young man's path thrusting both hands out to stop Caspian in mid-pace.

"I don't think you want to wear a groove in the ground, Caspian," he said. "And if you go over that speech too many times in your head, you _are_ going to mess it up. Relax. Stop thinking about it. You know it and you won't forget it. Repeat after me: I…can…do…this."

Caspian frowned at him. "Edmund…"

"No," Ed said. "Repeat. I can do this."

With a small smile, Caspian said, "I can do this."

Edmund released him and moved back. "Good. Now, no more pacing. You're making _me_ nervous and this is one of hundreds of functions I've attended."

The Telmarine King chuckled and nodded. He sobered quickly when the herald appeared from a nearby passageway. This was it. It was time.

The banquet hall looked nothing like it had earlier that day. A line of tables with dark green linens edged in gold was set against one wall, with a cadre of servants behind it prepared to serve the attendees from the various dishes of delicacies.

Tables were set up around the outside of a large open space reserved for dancing. Some tables were higher, others had had legs shortened for shorter Narnians who wished to use them. Some had chairs, others did not, for those who couldn't sit in chairs. All were carefully covered in white linens with gold embroidery and each table had a beautiful bouquet of yellow and orange flowers at the center.

One table was set apart from the rest, resting on a dais at the head of the room. This one had eleven chairs, though there were twelve place settings. Each setting held a vast array of utensils, each undoubtedly serving a different purpose.

There were murmurs as the herald entered the room for the first time, the cue that the royal family and visiting monarchs were about to enter and begin the feast.

Without any confusion this time, the herald announced Lady Prunaprismia, who strode in resplendent in a dark blue gown with light blue sleeves. She looked regal, though she stood behind a seat much farther from the center of the table than she had previously held.

Queen Lucy, dressed in a golden gown with flowing white sleeves and her flowered crown atop her head entered next and stood behind a chair near the center of the table, to Prunaprismia's left.

Her brother, King Edmund, soon followed, dressed in a black velvet tunic and light silver undershirt with light silver pants and black boots. The silver crown on his head shone starkly against his dark hair.

Queen Susan, with all her gentle grace, followed him, her deep purple dress with lavender sleeves enhancing her radiance, and her golden crown glistening atop her head as she took up position next to Edmund on his left.

The herald's voice changed as he announced the entrance of High King Peter. The young monarch had obviously chosen his outfit in deference to Aslan, as he was wearing a scarlet tunic with gold undershirt and leggings. His golden crown with small rubies glittered against his blonde hair as he took up a position to the right of the center seat, on Lucy's left

Anticipation was high amongst the Telmarines as King Caspian entered, wearing a purple tunic and gold undershirt and leggings. The Telmarine crown, larger than the Pevensies' and lighter in color, contrasted with his dark locks as he moved to the center seat between Edmund and Peter.

When the din of the crowd died down, Caspian spoke.

"No King can rule without the sound input and expertise of a Council of Advisors," the young man said. "As such, I have put together a council of both Telmarines and Narnians in hopes of keeping the kingdom united and making sure all voices are accounted for."

He turned a brief gaze on a centaur and a Telmarine general.

"To advise me on military affairs and to lead campaigns to protect our kingdom and to keep the peace, I have chosen General Glenstorm and General Glozelle, who henceforth shall be known as and given all the rights and privileges of Lords."

There was applause as the two advisors moved up to the high table. Glenstorm took up position in the spot beside Prunaprismia where there was a setting but no chair. Glozelle moved up beside Queen Susan.

"Acting as the Court Historian, one who has already shown great skill in collecting history, I have appointed Trufflehunter, who shall also bear the rank and title of Lord," he paused until the badger had taken his place to Glozelle's left, clambering up to stand on the chair so he could be seen.

"In the position of Seneschal, I have appointed Lord Proctmar, who henceforth shall bear the title of Baron and will be afforded all related privileges of that rank." Proctmar moved up to stand to Glenstorm's right.

Caspian looked out over the crowd. "As Chamberlain, I have chosen someone whose attention to detail will serve all of you well in matters of court," he had to hold in his smile at the look on Trumpkin's face as his name was announced and he was dubbed a Baron. He moved to stand to Proctmar's right.

"Many of you know him, and know of his extensive knowledge, which is why I have appointed Dr. Cornelius as my ambassador in all foreign and state affairs. He shall henceforth bear the title of Duke and be afforded the accompanying privileges."

Cornelius smiled warmly as he took up his position to the left of Trufflehunter.

"While not seated on the council, there are two others I have appointed to positions of rank within my court," Caspian said. "Joining Head Healer Parcius will be Head Healer Tumnus." The Faun nodded in acknowledgement. "And in the position of Castelaine, I have appointed Lady Miriam, daughter of Lord General Glozelle."

The young girl's eyes widened as all eyes in the hall turned on her. She curtsied to her King with a small smile on her face.

Caspian graced her with a small grin in return before schooling his features and looking from one side of the room to the other. What he said next might very well be the most important words he ever uttered.

He would keep them simple and to the point.

"I know we are all very different," he said to the assembled. "There is much we must learn about one another. Telmarines have long feared Narnians, and Narnians have long feared death by Telmarine blades. Those days are over and it is upon us to move forward from them together – as one kingdom.

"It will not be easy, and it will not be quick. But I have confidence that we can do this and will be better for it in the end," he raised his filled glass. "To peace and unity and our future."

Glasses all around the room rose and were drained or sipped.

* * *

Peter had to beg off another dance as his wounded shoulder sharply reminded him of its presence. He smiled and bowed to the Telmarine lady he had just taken around the dance floor and then resolutely headed to the head table where he spied Edmund and Glozelle sipping drinks.

Neither seemed inclined to join the melee on the dance floor like they might a mock battle melee on the training field. He smiled at that as he reached the table and leaned across it for his glass.

"You seem to be collecting quite the following, Your Majesty," Glozelle said with a broad grin, eyes alighting to a spot behind Peter where a gaggle of woman and girls had gathered. There was even a Faun or two in there.

Rolling his eyes, Peter nodded. "Yes, I had forgotten that aspect of banquets," he said with an answering smile. He might have continued, but out the corner of his eye he saw a group of Telmarine men he had been surreptitiously watching throughout the feast. They had been drinking heavily and now appeared to be quite inebriated. "We might have a problem."

Edmund and Glozelle followed his gaze to the group, one man in particular who was unsteady on his feet and had an open glare of hostility set on a group of nearby Fauns and Centaurs.

On the other side of the group, Peter noticed Caspian. The other King was also eying the group with a frown on his face, the drink in his hand forgotten and the woman he had been speaking with pursing her lips and watching the men as well.

Neither King was close enough to stop what happened next.

The ring leader of the Telmarine group trooped unsteadily up to one of the Fauns and non-to-gently poked him in the shoulder, drawing the Narnian's attention. "You," the man said, his drunken state making him speak louder than he probably wished to speak. "You don't belong here. None of you or your heathen friends. You're all beasts. Unnatural beasts. The lot of you should be put down."

Peter held his breath as the Faun leaned close and spoke something too quiet to hear. The man's eyes widened and the young King jerked as if he himself had been hit, when in actuality it was the Faun.

All eyes in the hall jolted toward the ensuing brawl and Peter, Edmund, Glozelle and Caspian all pushed through the throng toward the combatants. The Telmarine King reached them first and shouted, "Enough of this nonsense!"

There was a pause in the fight as the Telmarine turned to Caspian. But his words were not what any of them expected. "You're one of them," he hissed. "Taking their side. Fighting with them. You should have fought for your people, my _liege_."

It wasn't always noticeable, but Caspian was rather tall amongst Telmarines and when he drew himself up to his full height, as he did now, he was an impressive sight. The crown, royal garb and distinctly feral anger in his eyes helped.

"You would be wise to hold your drunken tongue, sir," he said scathingly. "Your words are going to get you in a world of trouble." He turned to the Narnians. "He wrongfully degraded you, and I know not what you responded, but _all_ of you will desist at once."

He wanted to groan when the drunk Telmarine launched himself at the Faun instead of doing what his King had ordered. Caspian met Peter's eyes over the resumed brawl and there was a glint of uncertainty in them.

The High King was about to intervene when a golden body appeared in their midst.

The Telmarine brawler was knocked to the ground, face down, and when he lifted his head to stand and retaliate, he found himself face to face with a large, golden face with glinting yellow eyes.

Scrambling backwards, he seemed to regain a few of his senses and managed to shakily get to his feet.

Aslan said nothing, just looked at the man. But in that look was enough power to cow anyone in Narnia. Enough power to remind everyone assembled, even the Telmarines who knew relatively nothing of Aslan or Narnia's history, that this being was above them all.

"That is enough," the lion said quietly. Then, he turned and padded away.

Caspian turned to a nearby palace guard. "Please remove this man from my sight. He is not to be readmitted to the feast," he looked down at the man. "Be thankful that is all the action I take against you."

The man moved unsteadily away with no argument. Caspian turned his attention on the Faun. "He struck the first verbal blow, but you seemed to provoke him," he said quietly. "I had hoped this feast would bring us together, not drive us apart. I am most disappointed."

The Faun hung his head. "I apologize, my King," he said, kneeling. "What may I do to make up for my actions?"

Caspian didn't speak. So Peter did.

"You will spend the rest of the feast in the company of only Telmarines. You will think on what you said to that man, and you will learn a lesson from this," he said, gesturing toward a group of nearby Telmarines he had seen attempting conversation with Narnians earlier.

Bowing low, the Faun meekly moved away from the Kings.

Caspian came to Peter's side. "Thank you for that," he said. "I was uncertain what to do with him. I only knew that he could not go unpunished for his actions." He sighed. "I had hoped this would not happen."

Edmund patted him lightly on the arm. "You can't expect miracles, Caspian," the younger King said. "After all, I think we used them all up during the battles."

The others smiled at that and Caspian shook his head fondly.

While Caspian and the Kings moved off to refill their drinks, Prunaprismia, shaken by the sudden and powerful appearance of the great lion, rushed away to collect herself and calm her trembling hands.

She was in such a rush, she didn't see the yellow-clad figure emerge from a side door, gently readjusting her gown after going to the wash chamber. Before the two could react, they collided and Prunaprismia's glass of wine splashed onto her dress and Lucy's.

Both gasped and wiped at their gowns. The woman muttered under her breath, "Kids running everywhere," as she wiped particularly harshly at her dress in an attempt to dry it so the wet spot would not be noticeable.

Lucy straightened up and lifted her chin. "Pardon me, madam, but it was _you _who ran into _me_ in your haste. Why _were_ you in such a rush, anyway? Running about doesn't befit a lady of the court."

Prunaprismia bristled. "And you are an authority on what _does_ befit a lady of court? I've been attending state functions for longer than you have lived, Queen Lucy," the woman said. "I think I know what is appropriate and what is not."

Lucy wasn't about to back down. Nine-year-old body or not. "My body is young, my mind is not, as I have said before. I remember many a state function and I know rushing is not something a Queen or a Lady does. One must always walk, never run or rush," she said, smiling inwardly at channeling the Pevensies' etiquette instruction.

For a moment, the woman looked ready to continue arguing, but her eyes appeared to be following something and Lucy twisted to see what it was. "Aslan," she breathed. Turning back to the lady, she frowned. "Aslan scared you?"

Huffing, Prunaprismia drew herself up. "I was not scared, Queen Lucy," she said. "Merely startled."

Lucy doubted that. It wasn't surprising the woman had been frightened by the lion's appearance. He had that affect on many people. "He can be intimidating," she said. "He is not a tame lion, but he is good, I can assure you of that."

Prunaprismia raised her chin, eyes blazing. "Yes, I saw his intimidation tactics," the woman said. "If he is so _good_ why did he allow his beloved Narnia to fall to the Telmarines? Why did he do _nothing_ to aid it for 1,300 years? If all it took was a look to end a drunken brawl, surely he could have done something to save _your_ _people_ from slaughter?"

The young Queen's eyes blazed. "Aslan does what must be done, when it must be done," she said firmly. "It isn't your place or mine to question him. He _created_ Narnia. If it wasn't for Aslan, you and I would not be here. None of this would. You would do well to respect him, Lady Prunaprismia."

She pushed lightly past the woman and had taken a few steps away before the woman responded. "He might have created it, but his lack of aid nearly destroyed it. What does that say about him as a leader? He puts children on thrones. What do children know of ruling? What do Caspian, your brothers, your sister and yourself know that make you better rulers than my husband would have been?"

The root of it all. Miraz.

Lucy turned back around. There was pain in Prunaprismia's eyes. It was buried deeply, but Lucy could still see it. She had loved her husband. Perhaps he hadn't been ruthless toward her. Perhaps he had hidden the many murders he had dictated. Or perhaps her love had blinded her.

The young Queen didn't have the heart to really respond as she had first wanted to, with harsh words about the usurper King. Instead, she replied simply, "We have a love your husband did not," she said. "I'm sure he loved you and your son. And I am sure he loved his position. But he did not love his people. _That_ is what makes us better rulers."

Before the woman could answer again, Lucy was gone.

Prunaprismia hung her head. Perhaps, deep down inside, she had known this.

* * *

Susan imagined she could _see_ the steam streaming from Lucy's ears as her younger sister approached the head table. To everyone else Lucy looked the picture of calm – every inch the young Queen. But to her siblings, she looked upset.

"Su," Lucy said as she sat in the seat beside her sister that had formerly belonged to Edmund. "I'm _this_ close to losing my cool. And I guess that's not a surprise really, since I'm _just_ a kid."

The Gentle Queen frowned. "What are you talking about, Lucy?"

Heaving a sigh, the Valiant Queen grabbed a fork off the table and proceeded to mutilate a piece of roast fowl. "Have you ever thought I was too young to be a Queen? What did I ever really contribute when I was young, like I am now? Sure, I had my cordial, but anyone could have administered that."

She stopped in her fowl jabbing and looked up into her sister's eyes. "Maybe Lady Prunaprismia has a point. Maybe I _am_ too young to be a useful Queen." She hesitated. "I know Aslan said we were worthy, but I just don't see what I _did_ to _be_ worthy."

The young Queen might have gone on, but Susan interrupted her.

"Stop that nonsense _right_ this instant Lucy Pevensie," the dark-haired girl said firmly. "I don't know what Lady Prunaprismia said to prompt this, but whatever it was isn't the truth. You contributed perhaps the most important thing anyone _could_ contribute."

Lucy looked over at her again, confused. "What?"

Leaning forward, Susan took her sister's small hand in her own. "You, Lucy, kept faith alive in Narnia. And without faith in their country, and in their rulers, no matter how magnificent Peter was with a sword, or how just Edmund's decisions in court were, or how gently I handled disputes amongst subjects, it would have been _nothing_ if the people didn't have faith in us. Your age was partly why your faith was boundless. And why you so quickly and easily believed in Aslan and helped that belief rub off on all of us."

Lucy smiled lightly. "It _was_ easy to put all my faith in Aslan when we first came to Narnia. And I guess it _was_ partly to do with being so young. It's just so hard to have grown up and then to be young again. It's like, I sometimes find myself getting angry that people treat me like a kid."

She turned to look at Peter and Edmund talking with Caspian and Cornelius across the hall. "I know you and the boys had to go through the same thing. But I went from being twenty-three to not even being old enough to be considered a preteen. It didn't bother me too much in England, or when we first came here. But ever since we've been mingling with the Telmarines, I feel like everyone looks at me and is thinking, 'She has no business wearing that crown'."

Susan sighed. "Lucy, remember -- boundless faith. Why don't you turn some of that inward right now? Look at yourself, what you've done recently. If it wasn't for you, a nine-year-old girl, the Narnians _would_ be extinct. You are young, but you make up for it with your faith and your courage. Just as you always have."

Lucy pursed her lips. She _had_ gone out and found Aslan by herself. She _had_ stood across a bridge from an enemy army armed only with a knife and her faith. And she _had_ always been able to renew faith in her people, sometimes with nothing more than a broad smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Her age hadn't hindered her in any of those instances. A small smile began to erupt on her face. Shaking her head, she chided herself inwardly for losing faith in herself again and vowed to put an end to _that _alarming trend right now.

Seeing the changing expressions, Susan patted Lucy on the shoulder and stood. "Now, why don't we go and rescue Peter and Edmund because it looks like our brothers are about to make fools of themselves," she said, pointing.

Lucy turned around and saw the two Kings lining up one in front of the other across from Willowwind. Beside them, Glenstorm and Halston were also facing each other. They were about to try an old centaur dance – and if their past attempts were anything to go by, this would be hilarious.

"Come on, Lu," Susan said gently.

The two Queens moved gracefully through the crowd, which parted for them as they approached their brothers and the centaurs. Just before they reached the young Kings, Lucy glanced toward the terrace and her gaze met the warm yellow eyes of Aslan.

He smiled lightly at her, eyes twinkling when she waved lightly and with a smile.

"Lu?" Susan's voice chimed in, breaking the moment. "Come on."

The dance floor had been cleared as the centaurs and the Narnian Kings lined up, obviously intended to do something special. A group of Fauns had commandeered the court musicians' instruments and were warming up.

"Peter? Edmund? _What _are you two doing?" Susan asked, hands lightly resting on her hips in mock indignation. "You two _aren't_ centaurs, in case you didn't notice." Lucy chuckled beside her as Peter and Edmund turned around and smiled.

Edmund, who was standing behind Peter prepared to do the part of a centaur's hind legs, shook his head. "The dance wouldn't be complete without _four_ centaurs, and since no one else was willing to get up and do it in front of the Telmarines, we decided to offer our services."

Peter twisted his head around. "Besides, we can always attribute it to a bit too much wine come morning," he said with a laugh. "Don't forget, we've actually done this before."

Lucy laughed out loud. "We _can't _forget," she said. "I don't think the memory will ever fade. It was a disaster. You two kept falling over each other."

Her brothers laughed. "Yes, well, we'll do better this time. Just watch," Peter said.

Willowwind chuckled. "Are you ready, my Kings?"

Peter and Edmund nodded and Ed leaned forward and grasped Peter's waist to keep the brothers in sync with each other. The band began to play and Peter and Willowwind and Halston and Glenstorm gripped right hands and bowed at the waists.

The centaurs bent their back right legs to deepen the bow, and Ed copied the move, though it didn't really lower him and Peter.

Hands still linked, they began to circle and bend legs in an intricate pattern. Peter and Edmund were usually a little behind their centaur companions, but they were doing a good job of keeping up and making it look like they knew what they were doing.

Narnians around the dance floor began to clap along and a few Telmarines hesitantly joined in as the centaurs and the young Kings began to move faster, stomping hooves and booted feet on the ground in time to the music.

Ed kept his hold on Peter as his brother copied Glenstorm, only slightly favoring his left arm when the two of them executed swinging arm movements. There was laughter as the brothers scrambled to keep up with a particularly fast dance move, and more and more Telmarines and Narnians were beginning to get into the music and stomp their feet along too.

Lucy and Susan smiled and glanced at a young female centaur who was moving to the music and appeared to be itching to get out and try it. Grinning, Lucy grabbed Susan's hand and pulled her.

"Hey, slow down, Lu!" Susan laughed.

The young Queen reached the centaur and grabbed her hand. "Come on, you want to try it and I want to try it. Let's go!"

For a moment the young centaur hesitated. "I…I…all right, Queen Lucy," she finally said. Lucy pulled her out on the floor and Susan obligingly took hold of Lucy's waist like Edmund was doing to Peter.

The girls caught site of Caspian laughing behind his hand as they began to circle, stomp and move their arms in time with their brothers and the centaurs.

After a few more minutes, Fauns and even Telmarines began to join in the dance. While they didn't link up like the Kings and Queens , they did stomp their feet and circle each other in a similar fashion.

Lucy caught site of Caspian linking hands with Miriam and of Glozelle pulling a smiling Telmarine lady onto the dance floor. Even Trumpkin had been roped into dancing – by a small Telmarine child with bouncing dark curls and a broad smile.

The dwarf was trying hard to keep a smile on his face and not roll his eyes, but Lucy could see he _was_ enjoying himself even if he would _never_ admit it to anyone. Ever.

The dancing went on long into the night.

But even though many of the Telmarines and Narnians were mingling now, there was still one woman that stood out from the crowd – Lady Prunaprismia. And it didn't escape Caspian's notice either. With a heavy heart, he realized his aunt would never be comfortable around Narnians. He pushed it aside and put a broad smile back on his face, not willing to ruin this tentative alliance for one dissatisfied person.

He couldn't help her right now. In the morning, he would tackle the problem that was his aunt.

* * *

_The next morning…_

Caspian sighed as he regarded his fellow Kings and Queens, including Aslan, who had chosen to seat himself next to the bench under the apple tree. The small courtyard was usually quiet at this time of the day, which made it a perfect place for a meeting.

"I wish it hadn't come to this," he said to begin the meeting. "The Narnians are doing a wonderful job of slowly convincing many of my kinsmen that they are not vicious beasts…we saw that at the feast last night, but…" he shook his head, unable to continue, knowing that the Pevensies had seen the same things that he had observed.

"It's not your fault, Caspian," Susan said quietly. "There are always going to be those that are going to be resistant to change. You can't force the world to see things the way you do, and if you try, you're only going to do more harm than good. There is progress though, we all saw it."

Caspian nodded. "Yes, but after the conversation that I had with my Aunt, I wonder if it is going to be enough." He hadn't yet shared the details of his conversation with his friends, but now he decided to. "In her own way, my Aunt truly loved my Uncle. She didn't have the same lust for power that he did, and she was horrified when he admitted to killing my father, but she did love him, and she wanted her son to have a chance at the throne, a chance he won't have now."

Peter nodded. "It makes for a bitter pill to swallow, losing her husband and her power, as well as her son's future, all at once." The High King was leaning carefully against the tree trunk, resting most of his weight on his uninjured arm. His left arm was much improved, but it was still very sore, and would be for some time yet. Crossbow wounds didn't miraculously heal overnight after all.

"I've offered to allow my Aunt to stay in the castle, since it's the only home she has, but I can tell that she's not comfortable with the new changes that have already begun. She is a good woman, and she did do her best to be like a mother to me, but…" Caspian shook his head, "I was never really her son, and now that she has one, she's not comfortable around me."

"There must be something we can do to help ease the transition," Lucy said. "After all, many of the Telmarines are at least making an effort at peace. I know it's only been a few days, but like you said, there is some progress."

Peter frowned. "What about allowing those that don't want to come into direct contact with the Narnians to form their own small district and appoint your Aunt as Regent for your cousin? They would still answer to you, Caspian, but for the most part, they could continue their lives as they have for the past thousand years."

Caspian considered that. "Is it really a good choice? It seems more like I'm sending them into exile and ridding myself of a future threat from my cousin or my aunt or both. It doesn't feel…honorable."

"The Telmarines are not native to this world."

All eyes turned to Aslan at that.

"What do you mean, Aslan?" Lucy said, finding her voice before everyone else.

"Just as the four of you traveled here from your own world, dear one, so did they, long ago," he replied.

There were small gasps of surprise from the siblings. "The Telmarines came from England? When?" Edmund asked.

Aslan shook his great head. "Not from England. They were originally pirates...six of them, with their wives. They shipwrecked on an island and discovered a cave with one of the rare fissures that leads into Narnia from your world. They wandered in and found themselves in what eventually became Telmar, where they proceeded to form their own country." The lion sighed. "Most of those fissures have closed over the years since Narnia was awakened, but there are still a few left."

Peter's brow was creased deeply in thought. "You said they shipwrecked on an island…is that island still there? In our world?"

Aslan nodded.

"Peter, what are you thinking?" Susan asked, eyeing her older sibling.

"If _we_ were able to pass from England to Narnia through the Professor's wardrobe, and return the same way…couldn't that fissure from that island still exist?" Peter mused.

"It does." Aslan said quietly.

All eyes shot to Aslan, then back to Peter, who snapped his fingers. "Aslan…if you know all of this…you must have some knowledge of _our _world…is that island a place where the Telmarines could go and flourish?"

Aslan nodded, his warm golden eyes staring at Peter, waiting for him to finish his thoughts.

"Could _you_ send them back?" Peter asked.

"How, Pete? Telmar is far west of here, beyond the Western Wilderness. I doubt the Telmarines are going to be willing to pack up all of their things and march all the way back to Telmar when they haven't seen it in over a thousand years," Edmund pointed out.

Peter just looked at Aslan, having a hunch that the great lion could indeed send the Telmarines back if he wished.

Caspian, Edmund, and the two Queens looked to Aslan, waiting for his answer.

_A/N: Sorry bout the cliffie. Just kinda worked here._


	24. Chapter 24

Part Twenty-Four:

_A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting, real life got in the way again. There is one more chapter planned for this story (after this one) but we already have a plot planned out for the sequel, so stay tuned!_

Part Twenty-Four:

Aslan had assured them he could send those Telmarines who wished it to the island they had originally come from, but Peter still couldn't really fathom _how_ the great lion was going to do it. He just had faith that he _could_ and left it at that.

After the morning meeting had broken up, the Pevensies had invited Caspian to accompany them to the nearby encampment to mingle with the Narnians still assembled there. Many had already begun their journey home, but there were those who planned to remain longer to get to know their new allies.

"Peter?"

The blonde's head jerked up as Caspian called his name. "Yes, Caspian?" he said, meeting the other King's eyes now that he had been jarred from his thoughts. "Did you say something?"

Laughing, the Telmarine nodded. "I did. I was wondering if there was any Narnian in particular you thought I could speak with about building suitable barracks for the members of the Narnian army who will remain here."

Frowning, Peter thought for a moment before indicating a nearby party of dwarves. "They are talented smiths," he said. "And it would take someone talented in building to advise you on that. You should speak to the dwarves." The High King turned toward his brother. "Edmund always did well dealing with the dwarves. Perhaps he could be of assistance."

The King in question glared at Peter. "Sure, Pete, just foist the duty off on your little brother, why don't you?" The twinkle in his eyes gave away that he was jesting and the smile tugging at his lips reinforced it.

"Oh go on," Peter laughed, nudging Edmund off toward the dwarves. Caspian chuckled and followed the other dark-haired King, talking in low tones about what the King and his new centaur advisor had discussed earlier.

"Peter?"

This time it was Lucy's young voice that chimed in. "Could we find Aslan, please? I wanted to ask him about Mum and whether we can bring her to Narnia somehow?" The young Queen's eyes were shining at the thought of bringing their mother to the beauty that was Narnia. Away from war and the pain of their father's death.

"That's a good idea, Lu," Peter said. But inwardly, he had a different question for Aslan. One that he had been fearing to ask for a while now and one that he feared the answer to, though he was sort of sure he already knew what it would be.

As they walked through the camp, he glanced toward Lucy and realized his question was one he didn't want to ask in front of her. Lucy, of all of them, loved Narnia more than perhaps she should. Peter knew they were not meant to live here, that they would need to return to their world some day. He wished it weren't so, but something was nagging at him, telling him that it was.

"Aslan!"

Lucy hurried forward, dropping to her knees as she flung her arms around the lion's neck in greeting. "Dear one," he said in response, looking up to gaze on the approaching High King and Gentle Queen. "Can I do something for you, young ones?"

Without wasting a moment, Lucy nodded. "Can you bring our mother to Narnia? Like you can send the Telmarines away from it? She would love it here, Aslan, I just know she would be so happy."

The lion didn't answer immediately. "Lucy," he said quietly. "There are some things that we dearly want, but cannot have. I am afraid that at this time, your wish is one of those things."

Lucy's face fell. "You can't bring her here, then?"

Shaking his head, mane cascading in golden ripples, the lion chuckled. "I can bring her here," he said. "But not at your request. I can only bring one to Narnia when there is a need for them and when the time is right."

Frowning, Lucy looked at him with her head tilted to the side. "So you can or you can't, I don't understand…"

Peter knelt beside her. "I think what Aslan is saying, Lu, is that if Mum was supposed to come to Narnia, he would bring her here. But the fact we _want_ her to come is not enough for him to act."

Nodding slowly, Lucy smiled faintly, though the smile was nothing near to the radiant ones she was known for. "I understand," she said quietly. "I just miss her, I guess. And I wonder if she's all right, all by herself."

Aslan rested a paw on her knee. "Your mother is well, Lucy. Even though I cannot bring her to you, I can assure you of that at least. Fear not, you will see her again soon."

Lucy brightened at that, taking it to mean that Aslan would bring her soon. But Peter, and it seemed also Susan, realized there were two possible meanings to Aslan's words. One, they would dearly love – the other they hoped wasn't to be.

"Why don't you visit with Halston, young Lucy," Aslan suddenly said. "He is most lonely with his father engaged in state affairs and his mother helping the Head Healers in their rounds."

Lucy stood and brushed the bits of grass off her red gown with a smile. "Ok," she said, before turning to Peter and Susan. "Should I meet you at the castle for lunch?"

They both nodded in agreement and watched as Lucy hurried off.

"You have another question for me," Aslan said, startling the two oldest Pevensies.

Susan glanced to Peter, deferring to him to voice the question on both their minds.

Swallowing, the High King nodded. "We…were wondering, Aslan, if we would be leaving Narnia again soon? I think we both have a feeling we will be leaving." He looked to Susan at that, who nodded that it had been the thing she was thinking as well.

"Walk with me."

Peter and Susan fell into step on each side of the great lion as he padded softly from the camp into the nearby forest. "Tell me, Peter, Susan, do you dislike your home?"

The two exchanged glances across Aslan's back.

"Well, we do find Narnia to be far more pleasant," Susan said slowly. "There is war here, yes, but we can do something about it and we don't live every day in fear of the unknown while someone far away decides what to do to protect us."

Peter piped up too. "In Narnia we can make a difference," he said quietly. "In England , we're just kids going to boarding school. Even when I _was_ fighting in that war, I could do little good. I was just another body. In Narnia, everyone means something. It isn't the same there, I don't think."

Aslan didn't respond to either of their comments. "I asked if you dislike your home, not what you like about Narnia and how the worlds differ."

Peter frowned. "I suppose not, I mean, there isn't anything wrong with it. It's just different. And Mum is there, and we miss her dearly."

The lion nodded. "You will be leaving Narnia soon," he said. "But it will not be forever. You will return when you are needed. You will all face challenges in readjusting to your new roles in England."

The siblings sighed. They had expected this answer, but hearing it still hurt.

Aslan stopped walking and waited until the two were standing and looking at him again. "You will _always_ be a King and a Queen," he said lightly. "Even when you are sitting in your boarding school. Remember what it is like to be a ruler and employ it in your lives. You will find you _can_ make a difference, one small piece at a time."

Turning away from them, he said, "Now, I must ask you not to follow me. There are things I must do in order to prepare for tomorrow's gathering. Things to be set in motion to give the Telmarines a choice – to stay or to leave."

Peter and Susan nodded and watched as Aslan moved off into the forest.

With a start, Peter realized there was one more thing he had to ask Aslan. "Aslan, wait!" he called out, running forward to meet the lion, who had stopped at the call. Susan, confused but not about to question her brother, waited where she was as Peter reached the lion.

"Aslan," the High King said breathlessly. "I wanted to ask you something. I don't know if you can do it, or not, but it's about our mother. You see, she's…well…she's going to be all alone while we are in boarding school. Could you…could you do anything for her? Help her any way? She's been so sad since Dad died and without us around, I worry about her."

Aslan looked closely at Peter before speaking. "I cannot make any promises, Peter," he said. "But your mother is a strong woman. She will remain strong, if not for herself, than for you – her children."

He turned and ran into the forest, his golden fur soon fading from sight. Peter hurried back to Susan and brother and sister looked to each other, each with a sad expression on their face.

"We always knew it would happen, Su," Peter said quietly, reaching forward and gripping her hands. "When we first came back, I felt we had to do right by Caspian. Something just told me he would be Narnia's future. As much as I wish it could be different, I think I understand."

Susan sighed. "I do too, but I had hoped we would have more time. Last time, it was many years. This time…this time I fear it will be far, far less."

The two remained quiet as they picked their way back through the woods and out into the field that held the Narnian encampment. It was nearly lunch time and with great difficulty, the two put on happy faces and went to meet their siblings and the King who would hold up Narnia in their absence.

* * *

Edmund was waving his fork around as he enthusiastically explained to Caspian all the fine points of the Narnian justice system that he had helped to revamp during the Pevensies' reign.

"Very few Narnians ever had qualms about our decisions," he said. "When things simmer down here, we can help you find the best way to meter out justice fairly to both Telmarine and Narnian subjects."

Caspian was hanging onto his every word, obviously pleased that Edmund, known as the Just for a reason, was willing to spend time helping him. The two continued their talk, oblivious to Peter and Susan, who were pushing their food around their plates, lost in thought.

_They are so happy here,_ Peter thought to himself._ I can't stand the thought that they have to go back to England, back to a world where they are just kids, just students. I'm nearly an adult there and even _I_ can't make all that much difference. This is going to really hurt Lucy, especially. She is so full of energy and needs an outlet for it. At least in Narnia she can use that energy to help our subjects._

Susan was thinking along the same vein, her gaze focused on Edmund.

_Edmund comes out of his shell here, _she thought wistfully, remembering how Edmund was quiet and withdrawn in England . He wasn't unhappy, not really, but he wasn't as outgoing as he was here in Narnia. _Look at you, Ed, _she said inwardly. _You haven't let that smile drop from your face at all this meal. You are so excited about helping with the justice system, I hate to think you won't be able to do that because we're leaving. Soon._

Neither of the older Pevensies thought of themselves, though leaving was weighing on their minds too. They were more concerned with Lucy and Edmund, as they always had been.

"Hey, Peter," Edmund suddenly said, turning to his brother. "When Caspian brings back the tournament, are you going to compete? I think you should, you are really a sight when you used to joust and fight in the sword competition."

Caspian nodded. "I would be honored if you would participate in the tournament, Peter," he said. "I imagine it would be a great treat for the Narnians to see their legends in action. Would you also compete, Edmund?"

The dark-haired boy shook his head. "I don't know, I never used to compete because my skills are in two swords, not one. And I'm not a jouster."

From the other end of the table, Glozelle interjected: "In Telmarine tournaments, there is an event for dual-sword competitors." He chuckled when Edmund's eyes lit up and Peter, beside his brother, couldn't help the crestfallen look that crossed his face.

_Of course, just when there would be a tournament that Edmund could compete in and probably win, we have to leave Narnia,_ he thought to himself. _Why does fate have to be so cruel sometimes?_

Edmund and Glozelle were soon engrossed in a lively discussion of Telmarine dual-sword tournament bouts that the general had either seen or participated in, and Lucy took up the conversation.

"Well, I don't know about Susan, but I can't wait to plan the Mid-Winter Festival with you and Miriam, Caspian," she said. "It was always the biggest banquet with all sorts of great food, dancing, games and it will be _so_ much fun."

Susan wanted to come out and tell her brother and sister what Aslan had told her and Peter, but she caught her older brother's short nod and refrained from doing so. They would wait until they were in private before breaking the news. It wouldn't due to have the younger King and Queen get upset in public.

Caspian, Peter noticed out of the corner of his eye, was no longer listening to Lucy go on and on about feast preparations and some of the many grand feasts they had hosted in Cair Paravel. His eyes were locked on a lady a table away who was making eyes at him.

With a small smile, Peter nudged Edmund and nodded toward Caspian. Slowing the motion of his fork as he realized he had ground his vegetables into a paste instead of eating them, Edmund smiled back as he spied the situation.

"Oh, Caspian," he said in a sing-song voice, glancing at Susan as he did so. "I know you _so_ enjoyed Susan's story of King Lune, Peter and I. How would _you_ like to hear about one of Susan's many, many suitors?"

The girl in question nearly squawked. "Edmund Pevensie, you wouldn't dare!"

He only laughed. "It would help Caspian," he said, nodding discreetly to the lady who was still eying the new King with what could almost be classified a leer. "I'm sure he'll have his share of unsuitable suitors, he's got the devilishly handsome good looks and all."

It was Caspian's turn to blush, which he did quite nicely, before clearing his throat. "I would like to hear this tale," he said with a small grin. "But if it would greatly anger Queen Susan, I would say don't bother."

Peter laughed. "It shouldn't anger her, Caspian. Only perhaps bring back embarrassing memories. After all, if Edmund is thinking of the story of Prince Aedan, it's one that will teach you about suitors _and_ how someone can fail miserably with court protocol."

Lucy chuckled. "Oh, yes, please Edmund, tell the story."

Susan huffed, but nodded her blessing.

Sitting up straight, Edmund smiled. "Susan grew from the gangly school girl she had been when we entered Narnia, into quite the beautiful Queen and by the fourth year of our reign, when she was 19, suitors began to come out of the woodwork. Some more _colorful_ than others."

_Peter adjusted his grip on the lance and looked across the jousting field to the Terebinthian prince preparing across the way. This young prince, Aedan, had been a surprise to almost everyone at the tournament._

_Little was known of Terebinthia, as it didn't fall under the Narnian crown, so when the entourage from the island had appeared and asked to participate in the annual tournament at Cair Paravel, Edmund and Peter had been wary but had had no reason to refuse and had allowed them to join in._

_It appeared they were skilled swordsmen and jousters, as Peter and the prince were the final two jousters and whoever won this bout would win the event and clinch the title of tournament champion._

_As the flag slashed down, Peter kicked his mount into a gallop and lowered his lance into position. As he reached the prince he could feel the solid impact of lance against target and when he felt no answering crash, he knew he had won and let himself smile under his helmet._

_Slowing his horse, he turned back and saw that the prince had not been unseated, but was rather heavily clutching his chest and his mount was sporting splinters from Peter's lance in its mane._

_Riding back, he pulled the helmet from his head and offered a slight bow to the young prince. "You are a most skilled jouster, Prince Aedan," he said. "It has been a few years since I have had such a good bout. Will you and your entourage be attending the celebrations? I should like to learn more of your island."_

_Pulling his helm from his head to reveal a head of shockingly red hair, Prince Aedan nodded and smiled. "I vood greatly enjoy zis," he said, his accent thick and pronounced as he panted lightly from the blow. "Terebinthia vood be honored, High King Peter."_

_Peter smiled and turned away to return to Edmund, Susan and Lucy at his end of the field, Aedan close behind him as he rode back toward the temporary accommodations available to all visiting competitors._

_The prince's gaze fell on Susan, who was smiling broadly at her brother and holding out a small towel for him to wipe the sweat from his brow. She saw Aedan behind him and waved lightly. "Congratulations on your second place finish, Prince Aedan," she said._

_For a moment, he didn't reply, staring as he was at Susan. Then, realizing they were all looking at him, he bowed in the saddle. "Z…zank you, Queen S…Suzan," he stuttered. Obviously flustered, he nodded again and hurried off._

"_Bit shy?" Lucy said with a smile. "He couldn't take his eyes off you, Susan." The youngest Queen dodged a small slap. "Well he couldn't! I'll bet you anything he will ask for your hand, just like the _last_ three knights who looked at you like that."_

_Edmund and Peter sobered at that and watched Aedan disappear amongst the tents. The minute a suitor for either of their sisters appeared on their radar, the two Kings took notice and sometimes even took action._

"_Good thing Peter didn't know that _before_ the last ride," Edmund said with a small grin. "Otherwise he'd have hit the poor prince much harder."_

_Susan slapped him before he could move. "Ed, that's positively barbaric."_

"Would you really have, Peter?" Lucy suddenly piped up. "Hit him harder?"

Peter smiled lightly. "Probably," he replied. "Ed and I were awfully protective of the both of you. And suitors were no different than warring lords sometimes. I might have had to turn down another horse…"

Beside him Edmund shook his head with a laugh. "The poor prince would have been much sorer in the morning if Peter had known his intentions, that's for sure." He looked at Susan. "Things went downhill from there, if I remember right. We soon realized this Aedan was no match for our Gentle sister."

"_Announcing, Her Majesty, Queen Susan the Gentle, Empress of the Lone Islands, Lady of Cair Paravel, Duchess of the Lantern Waste, Duchess of Galma and Countess of the Western Marches."_

_Susan nodded and smiled as she made her way to the head table. As she passed the table holding Prince Aedan of Terebinthia, she couldn't help but notice his attire. Not something she normally saw at a feast, more like something one would wear on the battle field._

_As the feast wore on, she could sense his eyes on her and from time to time he would make it a point to brush up against her in severe breach of protocol. Susan could tell her brothers were getting angry at each intentional touch. She wondered if the prince even _knew_ what he was doing was inappropriate._

_When Peter and Edmund were otherwise engaged, Susan found herself face to face with the young red-head. "Queen Suzan of Narnia. I vood be most honored if you vood allow me vone dance vith your radiance," he said. _

_Susan tried not to chuckle. He must have meant _majesty, not radiance.

"_Of course," she said with a small smile, holding out her hand. It wasn't taken. Instead, the prince pulled her right up against him and she almost shrieked in surprise, her eyes widening as she felt every inch that the two of them now had touching. "Prince Aedan!" she exclaimed. "This is not how we dance in Narnia!"_

_He frowned and pushed her back a little. "It iz not? It iz how ve dance in Terebinthia. How should I do it?"_

_She put him into the proper position, much, much further apart and they danced, or rather tottered, around the floor. Susan winced every time the prince trod on her feet but kept a smile plastered on her face._

_When the song was over, she curtsied and then looked over Aedan's shoulder. "My brother is beckoning, I have to go. Thank you for the dance, Prince Aedan." Without waiting for him to speak, she brushed past toward Peter, who hadn't actually beckoned, but the prince didn't need to know that._

"_Peter," she said, breathless. "Don't let that crazy prince near me again, please!"_

_The older boy frowned. "Did he do something to you, Susan? Should I have him removed? What happened?"_

_Susan shook her head, holding up a restraining hand. "No, none of those things," she said. "But he is hopelessly barbarian. Look at my feet, he must have strode on them at least a dozen times. And he thought to hug me to dance!"_

_Peter held in a smile. "Oh, is that all?" _

_She glared at him. "It's enough!"_

_Peter acquiesced and nodded. "I'll do what I can, Su," he said. "Why don't I go engage the good prince in conversation? Would that save you for a while?"_

_His sister nodded and Peter went off to do so, quickly learning for himself that while the prince held a title of royalty, he was far more like a general or a soldier than he was a prince._

"_And zo, ve conquered ze rebellion," he said gesturing madly. "Because of zese exploits in battle, I vood like to ask for your sizter's hand in marriage. She vood make a most exzellent Queen of Terebinthia. Strong like a vorrior and beautiful like a glistening blade of steel."_

_Peter's eyes widened, Edmund dropped his cup, and Lucy fell backwards into her seat. _

"_You, you're what?" Peter said, not believing what he had just heard. "Marriage? With Queen Susan? Prince Aedan, I'm afraid I am at a loss."_

_The prince shook his head. "Vorry not, I vood protect her vell, King Peter," the man said, not considering for a moment that he hadn't gotten an answer. "Ve can give her all zat she vood vant."_

_Peter shook his head. "Prince Aedan," he said. "It is not for me to decide."_

_The man frowned. "But you are King. She is a voman. She makes no decisions."_

_Edmund moved to stand, but Peter stilled him with a glance. "Not in Narnia," the elder King said. "In Narnia, Queen Susan makes as many, sometimes more, decisions than myself or King Edmund. As does Queen Lucy."_

_He would have continued except Susan showed up with a "Peter, what's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost…oh dear, I apologize. I didn't realize you were speaking with Prince Aedan!"_

_Edmund coughed. "More like he was speaking with us, Queen Susan," he said. "About you, actually."_

"_Me?" Susan turned to Aedan. "What about me?"_

_The young prince looked a little confused. "I had asked your brother for your hand in marriage," he said matter of factly. "I did not think you vood have to agree."_

_Her jaw fell open in an un-Queenlike way. "Marriage? I know nothing of you or your people beyond your names," she said breathlessly. "Why would I marry you?"_

_Aedan frowned. "I am strong. A vorrier. A prince. Need more reason?"_

_Susan drew herself up. "I most assuredly _do_ need more reason," she said firmly. "If you wish to make such a proposal, you would have many months of courting before you could do so. And you would need permission to even begin that. Marriage is not entered into lightly or quickly."_

_Prince Aedan frowned. "Narnia is strange," he said. "Ve marry for strength. You are a strong woman, Queen Susan. It vood be a good match."_

_Susan shook her head. "I cannot believe we are even discussing this," she said, heaving a sigh. "I am sure you are a nice man, Prince Aedan, but it would not work out. I don't take kindly to being given away without my consent. Please do not ask again."_

_Humbled, the prince nodded, bowed and turned away._

_Edmund burst into laughter, Lucy held her chest and hiccupped with giggles and even Peter was having a hard time not laughing hysterically. Susan glared at them all._

"It was funny for the three of _you_," Susan said, "but for me, the one who Prince Aedan was asking for like he would ask for a slab of meat, it was not so hilarious." She smiled lightly. "And I couldn't walk without wincing for a week."

With still-wide eyes, Caspian glanced toward the leering woman and then toward the Pevensies. "You wouldn't have advice on how to _avoid_ such situations? Would you?"

Edmund chuckled. "'Fraid not, Caspian. You'll have to figure _that_ out as you go."

* * *

_Later, after dinner…_

Sighing, Peter shut the door to his and Edmund's chambers and lightly rolled his aching shoulder. He watched as Ed whistled and began to shrug out of his tunics to change into his sleep clothes.

When he was halfway through dressing, he noticed Peter had not moved from the door and was watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. "Peter?" Ed said, taking a step toward the blonde King. "Is something wrong? You didn't get into the story at lunch and you haven't been saying much all day. You can talk to me, remember?"

Peter bit his lip. "Ed, there's something you need to know."

Edmund came to a stop a foot away from Peter, tilting his head to the side. "What? Peter you are beginning to worry me…"

The High King reached out and took hold of Ed's shoulder, leading him toward his own bed and pushing him down lightly on the edge. Sitting himself, he twisted until he was facing a frowning Edmund.

"Su and I spoke to Aslan this morning," he said. "We…I guess the easiest way to do this is just to come out and say it. Edmund, we won't be staying in Narnia. Not this time. We're going back to England."

Edmund said nothing, just stared at his brother. When the stare and the silence grew heavy, the younger King stood and walked across the middle of the room to the open balcony and strode straight out until he was leaning against the stone wall.

Breathing slowly and steadily, he waited until Peter joined him – he knew he would.

"Peter, did he say when?" Edmund whispered. "There are so many things I wanted to help with here."

Shaking his head, Peter said, "No, he didn't say. He rarely says anything straight out, Edmund, you know that. But I just know, somehow, that it will be soon. Caspian would benefit from our help, but he will do well without it too." He sighed and leaned against the stone. "If you think about it, by staying we are holding together a rift between the Narnians and the Telmarines. If Caspian is the _only_ king for both kingdoms, things may meld together better."

Shifting so their shoulders touched, Edmund let his head hang down until his fringe was in his eyes. "Somehow I think I knew," he said, still so quietly that Peter nearly couldn't hear him. "I didn't want to believe it. I _made_ myself not believe it. I don't _want_ to go back to England , Pete. We're nobody there. Just kids. What can we do as kids?"

The elder boy shook his head. "Very little, Edmund, that's the same fear I have about going back. Feeling useless. But Aslan said that we can make a difference, just by acting as if we were royals. With impeccable manners and unending care for others. It's bound to rub off."

Edmund looked up at his brother, the golden crown still perched on his head glistening in the moonlight. "I always thought you managed to be magnificent even in England, Peter," he said. "But I never have cause to be Just."

Peter turned his own gaze onto Edmund. "School, Ed," he said slowly. "You can show them your Just side in school. You can be a defender of the weak there, just as you could here. Just without swords or armies. With your words, Edmund."

He gripped the boy's shoulder. "I believe you can do it."

Edmund smiled and returned the grip. "And I believe _you _can be magnificent." He looked out. "And Su can be Gentle and Lu can be Valiant. I think we'll just have to work a little harder to do it."

Peter nodded and the two watched the stars until each was too tired to keep their eyes open a moment longer, and they retired to their beds.

* * *

"Susan?"

Lucy tugged on Susan's dressing gown. She frowned when she saw her sister's somewhat distant expression. "Something's bothering you, Susan," the young Queen said, sitting beside her sister on the bed. "Please, tell me."

Susan turned red-rimmed eyes on Lucy and the younger girl gasped. Susan had been crying, or so it seemed. What in Narnia would cause the usually stoic girl to become so upset?

"Lucy," the elder Queen said. "I have to tell you something, and then you'll understand why I'm upset." She patted the duvet beside her and Lucy lay down on the bed next to her. "Peter and I spoke to Aslan this morning and he told us we would be going back to England soon."

She waited as Lucy stiffened and turned over swiftly until she was practically laying on top of Susan's side. "What do you mean, going back? Why do we have to go back? Did we do something wrong?"

The older girl put a hand on Lucy's shoulder and shook her head firmly. "No, Lucy, we didn't do anything wrong. I think it's just that we aren't needed here anymore, and we have to live in our own world for a while. He said we could come back when we're called."

Lucy sighed at that and lay back down. "Oh, well that's all right then," she said quietly.

Susan frowned. "All right? Lucy, I thought you'd be more upset about this."

Lucy took her sister's hand in hers and played with it like a small child just learning to explore their world would. "I _am_ a little upset, Susan," she said. "But if Aslan said we could come back, then we _will_ come back. Don't you believe that?"

Sitting up and drawing her hand back, Susan sighed. "I don't know," she said. "He said we could come back if we were called. What if we aren't called? What if this is our last night in Narnia – ever?" She turned back to face Lucy. "I don't feel like England is home anymore, Lucy. I don't dislike it, perhaps, but it's just not home."

Lucy sat up as well.

"No, it doesn't feel like home," she said quietly. "But that's probably because we've all lived in Narnia for longer than we have in England . Even Peter, though it's close for him. We got used to living like Kings and Queens and we can do things here we could never do there."

Susan nodded, leaning back against the headboard of her bed. "Yes, we can make a difference here. I know that is what most bothers all of us about England , feeling helpless. Aslan said we could make a difference there, and I want to believe him, but the English are so very different than Narnians, or even Telmarines."

When Lucy didn't answer, she turned back toward the younger girl and found her staring out the window. "Lu?"

Face sad, but resigned, Lucy turned back toward Susan. "I'm all right, Susan," she said. "I'm not happy about it. But I trust Aslan. He wants what's best for us, and that's what this is I guess."

Susan wasn't so sure England _was _what was best for them, but she didn't say so aloud to Lucy, whose faith in Aslan refused to be shaken. The two remained side by side in Susan's bed until they drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

_The next morning… _

Aslan had been gone for a full day and when he returned, his first words were to Caspian. "Assemble all the Telmarines in the large courtyard at the edge of the cliff," he said. "Give them no reason, just that they are to assemble. Be sure your advisors are also in attendance."

Caspian nodded and hurried off to spread the word, locating the fastest heralds and couriers and tasking them with assembling the Telmarines at the designated location. Aslan then turned to the four Kings and Queens of Old.

"I will need your aid," he said. "You will know when." His gaze lingered on Peter as he spoke and then he turned and was gone down the corridor leaving the four Pevensies to exchange sad glances.

Peter recovered first, straightening and gripping Edmund and Lucy's shoulders in a comforting gesture of support. "We'll be all right," he said quietly, looking to Susan with a small smile. "As long as we're together, we'll be fine."

They didn't answer, but he knew they had heard and understood.

Now, his thoughts turned to that conversation in the courtyard with Aslan. _I wonder what my next challenge will be?_ he thought to himself. _I only hope it doesn't take me away from Ed, Su and Lu. And Mum. I don't want to hurt them again._

Adjusting Rhindon on his belt, he nudged Lucy and Edmund forward when they appeared to be loath to move toward the courtyard. Falling into step beside each other, the four Kings and Queens appeared to those they passed as if they had just walked off a storybook page.

Susan's dress was light blue with designs embroidered in tan threads and flowing white off-the-shoulder sleeves with light brown bands. The dress was vastly different from the coronation gown and many of her Narnian dresses.

Unlike the loose clothing he was used to, Peter was wearing a white undershirt with a darker blue tunic, fitted tightly to the forearms and puffed out from the elbow to the shoulder. The deep v-neck ended just above his sword belt, and the tunic came to mid thigh.

Lucy's dress was a dark green with orange and tan leaves strewn about it. The sleeves ended at mid-upper arm and long white ones continued to her hands. She had her hair tightly braided, while Susan's was curled and mostly down.

Edmund's black tunic with collar matched his nearly black hair, and the dark grey vest-like tunic over it gave him the appearance of a dark knight. Like his brother, his vest went to mid-thigh level.

None of them wore crowns, which wasn't entirely unusual during the day, but might be considered out of the ordinary since they were going to be appearing before an assembly.

It took half an hour for the courtyard to become packed with chattering, wondering Telmarines. From a nearby alcove, Edmund, Peter, Lucy and Susan watched the assembled men and women. They could see Prunaprismia and Miraz, the second, and Caspian, who was moving toward them.

"It is time," he said, gesturing that they join him at the front of the group.

Aslan was waiting and he looked on them with both pride, and sorrow, as the four stood to the side and let Caspian address the crowd.

"After observing and speaking with some of you, it has become obvious that not all of you are comfortable living and mingling with the Narnians," Caspian said, drawing a few nods of agreement from a few in the crowd. "And some of you will likely _never _be. It is for you that we assemble. Aslan --" he pointed to the lion – "has found a way to give you a new home, where there are no Narnians."

Murmurs grew in volume at the announcement and Caspian was forced to raise his voice above the new din. They increased ten-fold when the golden lion spoke next. "Good Telmarines, I can send you to the land of your ancestors," he said.

One Telmarine spoke from the crowd. "It has been long since we visited Telmar," he said. "It may not be as it used to be."

Caspian shook his head. "He does not speak of Telmar," the young King said, turning back to Aslan to continue.

"The first Telmarines were sea-faring brigands – pirates – who ran aground on an island. This island was not a part of Narnia, it was part of the world our Kings and Queens of Old hail from." All eyes snapped to the Pevensies at that, and the four gave their most reassuring smiles. "On this island, there was a fissure between their world and this one and those pirates and their families crossed through it and settled it what became Telmar."

He gazed out over the crowd, more than once alighting on Prunaprismia.

"I can send you to this island," he said.

There was a roar of confused and excited voices at his words and it was a few moments before the Telmarines noticed Caspian gesturing to quiet them. Once he felt he could be heard, the young King spoke.

"Aslan has assured me this island is safe and will make a good home for any Telmarine who wishes not to remain here," he said. "He said he could open a gateway directly to that world, from this very courtyard.

"You must choose if you believe you can live with the Narnians, or if you would be happier away from here. I know this sounds crazy, but I swear, as your King, that this is not a joke, nor is it a way to harm you."

Aslan, without waiting for any indication, turned to two tall trees at the very edge of the courtyard, twined together. As he gazed on it, the tree began to move – twisting and unwinding until there was a wide archway between the two trunks.

He turned his gaze back toward the Telmarines.

"Those who wish to live this new life, need only pass through the gateway."

For a moment, there was no movement. Not even a whisper from the crowd. Then, one person stepped forward. Clutching Miraz to her chest, Prunaprismia moved forward until she was standing in front of Caspian.

"I wish to go," she said quietly. There was no longer fight in her eyes, only acceptance, resignation and perhaps even a little bit of hope, if you looked hard enough. "I wish to accept the offer."

Caspian smiled lightly at her and put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward Aslan.

"Since you acted first, with no hesitation, you will have a good and prosperous future in that world," he said, ghosting his breath over her and the baby. "May you find the peace you seek, Lady Prunaprismia, and may your son grow to be a fine man."

She nodded to the lion, still unnerved by the large being, and then turned to Caspian. Looking up at her taller nephew, she let a small smile cross her face. "Thank you," she said. "I know my case probably spurred you on, and I appreciate it."

Then she turned and with only a small hesitation in her step, passed through the archway and disappeared.

Gasps and cries of disbelief erupted. One man called out, "How do we know that gateway will not lead us to our deaths!?" There were echoes of agreement and all eyes shifted from Aslan to Caspian and back again.

Peter, who had been watching quietly from the side with his brother and sisters, knew this was the time Aslan had been talking about. "We will go through the gateway," he said. "Surely Aslan would not harm us?"

There were slow nods of approval for this suggestion and resigned sighs from Lucy and Edmund. Susan was strangely silent. Peter swallowed with difficulty, the moment he had been dreading yet expecting was here.

Stepping forward, he moved toward Caspian, who's eyes were wide with shock.

Smiling lightly, the young High King came to a stop in front of the Telmarine boy. "It's time for us to go and for you to do what you were born to do, Caspian," he said. "You don't need us right now, but if there is ever a time when you _do, _you know how to reach us."

He lightly gestured toward Susan's horn, which the young Queen was holding out for her brother to take and hand to Caspian. Turning the white horn over in his hands, the Telmarine nodded. "I shall not hesitate should the need arise," he said quietly.

Peter still did not move away.

It wasn't something Aslan had told him to do. Nor was it something that custom dictated, since there _was _no precedent for this situation, but it was something Peter just _felt_ he had to do.

Before he could change his mind, he pulled Rhindon from his belt and held it out to Caspian. "Take care of them," he said quietly. "As I would have done."

Eyes hardening with firm resolve, Caspian nodded and grasped the sword and sheath without so much as a shake in his hand. "I swear it," he said. "I promise I will restore Narnia to its former glory in your absence," Caspian said, gripping Peter's forearm in his now. "And I shall begin by rebuilding Cair Paravel. Such beauty should not remain tainted by ruins."

That brought a broader smile to the Pevensies' faces and Peter stepped back to join his siblings now. The advisors who had so recently been seated, were lined up beside Aslan and the four monarchs stepped over to them to say goodbyes.

Lucy and Trumpkin eyed each other until the young Queen snapped and moved forward with astonishing speed to envelope the dwarf in a strong hug. "I'll miss you," she whispered. "Think of me?"

"All the time," he whispered back.

Peter bowed to Glenstorm and Glozelle, Edmund mirroring his brother. "I know Narnia and the Telmarines are in good hands should there ever be another attack," Peter said lightly.

The centaur and the man nodded their thanks and then the Pevensies moved toward Aslan.

"We will come back, won't we Aslan?" Lucy said quietly.

The lion smiled at her. "Someday, Lucy. Someday, all those who have been to Narnia return to Narnia, in one form or another."

She frowned in confusion, but didn't press.

Edmund was the first to move toward the gateway in the tree and with a brief glance backwards, he moved through and was gone. Susan followed behind him, smiling lightly at the people watching them before disappearing like her brother. Peter and Lucy stood side by side. The oldest and the youngest, so similar and yet so different. Both shot looks toward Aslan, then Caspian, and then turned and were gone.

* * *

The rushing train to their left would have drowned out any conversation, so Edmund and Susan said nothing as Lucy and Peter appeared behind them seemingly out of thin air. No one noticed anything amiss around them, but the Pevensies felt like fish out of water suddenly, dressed in their school clothes as if Narnia had all been a dream.

Spying the bench they had been seated on, Edmund made to move toward it when he heard a muttered curse and turned to see Peter hit the ground on his hands and knees, an expression of bewilderment on his face.

The expression quickly turned to one of fear and disbelief and Edmund dropped down beside him, Susan and Lucy on his heels.

"Peter, what's wrong?" Edmund asked.

"Help me up," the older boy said, barely audible over the din of the trains.

Edmund stood and reached out a hand to his brother, pulling him up. Peter put no weight on his right leg at first, eying his brother and sisters nervously. Then he pushed his right leg out and leaned just slightly, putting weight on that leg.

It quickly buckled and he only just caught himself on Edmund's shoulder.

"What in the blazes?" Susan said, gripping her brother's shoulder. "Peter?"

The blonde-haired boy looked up with wide eyes. There was recognition in them, mingled with fear and resignation.

Swallowing, he said slowly. "I…I can't feel it. It's as if it wasn't there."

_(evil laugh) Sorry, we just couldn't resist. Don't forget to read and review!_


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: OKAY, well, I lied. Yes, I admit it, I did lie. I told you this would be the last chapter of "To war" and that is a lie. Because it isn't the last chapter. Nope, I have moreAnd I didn't get to the whole reason for Peter's leg problems in this chapter either. The curse of an overactive imagination/brain… I just can't stop writing! I hope you enjoy it!! (Actually, you can blame Phoenixqueen too, because SHEEEE suggested I continue this through the first term at their school…)_

**Part Twenty-five**

"You…_no_ feeling? None at all?" Edmund stared at the top of Peter's head, since the elder boy was looking down, carefully controlling his breathing and trying very hard not to panic.

Without waiting for an answer, Edmund made a quick decision and pulled Peter's right arm over his shoulder. Gesturing toward the bench, he said over the roar of the fast-moving express train, "Let's move over there and we'll figure this out, Peter."

The Just King was acutely aware that the four children were beginning to become a subject of curious stares from passersby, and he didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to their plight.

Holding tightly to Edmund, Peter nodded and managed to hobble to the bench.

_At least he's not wincing,_ Edmund thought to himself. _So he isn't in any pain. That's something we have going for us._

Lowering Peter to the bench surface, he sat beside him and Susan perched on Peter's other side. She gripped his hand and lightly rubbed it. "Peter, tell us - what's wrong?"

Looking at her through his fringe, the blonde sighed. It would be too hard to explain everything with the express train buzzing past, but he could tell them something. "There isn't any feeling in my right leg," he said, pinching it hard it to prove his point. "The left is fine, but the right feels like they both did when I lost feeling in Narnia. I'm not sure why it suddenly started."

He had an inkling that it was what Aslan had warned him of, though he didn't voice that out loud. It wouldn't do to let his siblings know that something _worse_ could happen if his leg were better. At least, he _thought_ that was what the great lion meant. It was still too early to tell if _this _was actually the challenge, or if this was just his unfortunate lot in life.

Lucy, squatting before her brother, shook her head. "I don't get it, Peter, you were fine in Narnia. Why in the world would this happen the _moment_ we set foot back in England?"

Peter frowned. "I don't know, Lu. Everything about Narnia is so magical, there isn't always an explanation for things that happen."

From his left, Susan shook her head. "Perhaps we should get you to a hospital, Peter," she said with a frown of her own. "I mean, what if this is just the beginning? It could get worse."

But before she had even finished his name, Peter had been shaking his head from side to side. "No way, Susan," he said firmly. "I'm going to school. We can deal with it there. A hospital would ask far more questions than the school nurse, who might contact Mum, which would be bad enough, but not as bad as what a hospital could do."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but the din in the station increased again and Peter looked past Lucy as the express disappeared and another train, this one traveling much slower, approached the tracks. "That's us," he said. "Ed, help?"

His brother was strong, but with Peter's leg completely useless and acting as quite a bit of dead weight, it was difficult to lever him to his feet. From a nearby subway entrance, an elderly man frowned at the young boy trying to tug the older boy to his feet.

He eyed the makeshift crutch he held.

Then eyed the boy.

Then began to hobble over.

"Excuse me, lads," he said, startling the younger boy, who proceeded to release his hold on the blonde-haired boy. With a yelp, Peter hit the bench with a wince, which turned quickly into a glare directed at his immediately sheepish brother.

Both then turned their gazes on the man who had spoken and who was looking at them with a small smile of amusement on his face.

"Seems to me, you are having a wee bit of trouble, laddie," the man said to Peter. "Reminds me o' some o' the boys in the war. Cases of paralysis, where they'd have dead legs that weren't good for anything."

He looked pointedly at Peter's right leg, which the young man was holding lightly for no real reason other than it was on his mind. He didn't even know he _was_ holding it until he followed the man's gaze.

"Oh, um," he stammered. "Yes, I…see…" He trailed off, at a loss for words.

But the old man was shrewd. "War wound? Ye look old enough, though just barely." At Peter's light nod, he thrust out his hand with the crutch. "Here, take this. I live close enough to walk without it for a time, just take me a bit longer, I reckon."

When Peter made no move to take it, the man held it a little closer. "C'mon laddie, I've been using this here crutch since I took my wound in the first Great War, bout time I got me a new one."

Gulping, Peter eyed the crutch as if it meant defeat. "I couldn't take that, sir," he said. "You might live close, but I couldn't leave you with nothing to help you home. I wouldn't feel right about it."

Drawing himself up, the man shook his head, hand still outstretched. "I won't take no for an answer, young 'un," he said. "Either you take this here crutch, or I leave it here. Be a right waste if I left it in this old station and no one took it."

Sighing shakily, Peter took the proffered crutch and met the man's eyes. When the old veteran didn't move, he sighed again and set the crutch under his right arm, leaned forward, and managed to shakily rise to standing.

He had to lean over more, since the old man was shorter than he was, but the crutch would make getting around a whole lot easier.

Breaking into a toothy grin, the man lightly smacked Peter on the shoulder. "That's a lad," he said. "Don't have to go crushing that young man over there, now do you?"

Edmund chuckled at that, but stopped at the glare he got from his sisters. Peter only shook his head with a fond smile before turning to the man. "Can I compensate you, sir?" he asked, though he knew he had no spare money at the moment. "We could send you repayment in the mail…"

The veteran waved his hand. "No, no, lad," he said. "This one's on me. Consider it a small payment for services rendered," he said. "I reckon soldiers who have to live with a permanent disability deserve small favors."

His tone was slightly wistful and Peter wondered if _he_ got any small favors. Even if he did, Peter vowed the next time he was nearby, he'd do his best to see to it the old man got something. Even if it was only a visit.

"Can I at least have the name of my benefactor," he said, inadvertently channeling King Peter the Magnificent during a day of court.

Chuckling, the man nodded. "Name's Petty Officer Custis Dunkirk. Former member of the Queen's Navy. And you, young man? What's your moniker?"

Thrusting out his hand, Peter said with a smile, "Corporal Peter Pevensie, sir. Former member of the Queen's Army." The two veterans shook hands and then the old man was slowly moving off, leaving the Pevensies to marvel at the generosity of some people.

"It's nice to know there are still good people in the world," Lucy said quietly, watching the old man shuffle through the crowd. She wondered what the man had been doing in the station, if he hadn't been there to meet anyone or take a train.

She pushed it from her mind as their train came to a halt and the siblings bustled onto the passenger car with the others who had been waiting on the quay.

* * *

As the train lurched to a start, Peter nearly toppled over. Edmund caught him and looked around at the crowded train and then back at Peter. With a frown, he realized there were no seats here.

"Let's get a compartment," Peter said. "There's got to be something. Most of the people offload at earlier stations and don't use the compartments."

The others nodded and Edmund stooped to pick up his and Peter's valises while Susan steadied Peter and then hovered behind him as he hobbled off down the train aisle.

When they reached the door that opened onto the walkway over the coupling with the compartment car, Edmund glanced at Peter and frowned. "Will you manage all right?" he asked. "I don't want you falling off the train…"

Peter swatted at him with his left hand. "Not going to fall off, Ed," he muttered, shoving the door open and moving out onto the small walkway. He swayed only a little as he crossed and shoved open the other door with a bang. "See?" he said with a little wave. "I'm fine."

Edmund stuck out his tongue and then heaved the suitcases and walked across. Peter held the door for him, then Susan and finally Lucy. It wasn't long before they located an empty compartment and entered.

With a sigh of relief, Peter flung himself onto the nearest seat and rubbed under his arm. He imagined a day of walking with a crutch would leave him with a sore back _and_ a sore underarm.

"All right, there?" Lucy said, sitting beside him and lounging against the cushioned seat back. "You look like you just fought a battle."

Peter smiled ruefully. "Feels a bit like it too. You use muscles you didn't know you had when you do something out of the ordinary and I'm already starting to feel the burn," he said with a chuckle. "But I'm glad Mr. Dunkirk offered the crutch or poor Edmund would be feeling worse than I."

"Ha, ha," Edmund said haughtily. "Quite right, ole chap, you _do_ weigh a ton."

Susan gave her brothers a mock glare. "Boys…no fighting."

They both held their hands up in sync and Susan and Lucy erupted into laughter. Soon Peter and Edmund joined them. It was Lucy who finally broke the hilarity with speech. "I didn't think I'd be laughing so soon after having to leave Narnia," she said. "I thought I'd be all sad and droopy. But, I guess Aslan knows what he's doing because I don't feel all that bad. It just feels, right, somehow."

There was a moment of silence before Edmund sighed. "She's right. It does feel right."

All eyes fell on Peter, who had lost more than just Narnia upon their return.

Looking up at them, he bit his lip. "Even though this happened," he said, gesturing to his useless leg, "it still feels like this is how it was supposed to happen. I have no idea why. Don't get me wrong, I hate this. I really do. But…it's just another challenge that I'll have to face. And I have to believe Aslan knows what he is doing, just like Lu said."

"Speaking of Aslan," Susan said suddenly. "Do you think he meant we'd be going back soon? When he answered Lucy's question? Because it sounded a bit like he meant people might go back to Narnia, but not until they die here or something. He has me a bit worried."

Lucy jerked her head to the side. "I hadn't thought of that, Susan," she said quietly. "You don't _really_ think he'd make us wait a _lifetime_ to go back. Do you?" When Susan didn't answer, she shifted her eyes to Edmund and Peter. "Do you?"

Peter sighed. "I hope not," he said. "Something tells me that this leg of mine will work fine when we go back to Narnia. And I…well…I don't like thinking I'll have to live with this for years to come."

Inwardly, he wondered if it would return to its "bum leg" state the next time they returned from Narnia. Could it be this way every time they set foot in England, from now until they died? _I wish the next time we go to Narnia, will be the last. That we won't have to come back here. That Mum will go with us and we can just live our lives out there._

While Peter thought of Aslan and Narnia and his leg, his brother only thought of his leg and what _he_ was going to do about it. Eying Peter out of the corner of his eye, he debated how best to broach his thoughts with the older boy.

_I really should try to get the headmaster to let me room with him_, he thought to himself. _Peter is going to need my help. He might be able to walk, but I know my brother and he is going to start his "wallow in self-pity" party soon enough. He always does, no matter how magnificent a ruler he is, he's only human._

"Ed? Oh, Edmund!" Lucy's voice chimed loudly. "Glad to have you back with us! I was just asking if you think Caspian and Miriam would make a good couple? They were making eyes at each other at the banquet!"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Puh-lease," he said dramatically. "King Caspian has far more to worry about than a dalliance with a beautiful girl." He laughed at the twin open-mouthed gapes _that_ drew from his sisters. "I'm just kidding!" he said quickly. "I do think they would make a cute couple, okay?"

Susan huffed. "Cute, Ed? A _cute_ couple? Don't ever let Caspian know you called him cute in any way, shape or form. Would you want him to call _you_ cute?"

The look of horror on Edmund's face answered that question.

But the next thing to be said was interrupted by the sound of a loud thud from outside their compartment. All four Pevensies turned as one to see what had happened. Seeing no one outside, Edmund stood and, frowning, pulled open the compartment door.

"Oh my!" Lucy exclaimed, hurrying forward to gently nudge over the inert body on the floor outside the compartment. "Oh, it looks like he might have fainted. Edmund? Can you get him into the compartment?"

The dark-haired boy nodded and proceeded to pull the person into the compartment by hooking his hands under their arms. He gently laid him – for it was a boy in the same uniform the Pevensie brothers wore – back and began to pat his cheeks to rouse him.

Peter gasped when he got a good look at the boy. "That's Quentin!" he called out. "Quentin Connors! My best mate at school."

"Wha…what…happened?"

Quentin Connors ruefully rubbed his head and looked up at Edmund, the only one in his line of sight.

"You fainted," the younger Pevensie said, drawing back as the other boy sat up and took in the rest of the compartment. He jumped back further when Quentin suddenly lurched to his knees, pointing at Peter.

"Y…you…P…Peter Pevensie?" He dug his hands viciously into his eyes and then opened them blearily again. Peter was still seated there. "But…but." He couldn't complete his sentence and instead flopped back down on his backside in confusion. "Must be insane. Must have hit my head too hard playing rugby."

"What are you on about, Quen?"

At Peter's voice, the other boy halted in his mumblings and looked up, eyes wide again. "You're still there? You're _some_ persistent ghost, Pevensie," he said, shaking his head.

"Ghost?" Lucy chimed in. "Peter's not a ghost, Quentin. Go ahead and pinch him, I'm sure he'll slap you."

Quentin looked up at that and focused on Peter once more, this time not averting his eyes immediately. Frowning, he stood and moved closer. "Same eyes. Same hair, bit longish. Same face. Same ears…"

"Same person who calls an insane weirdo his best friend…" Peter said suddenly. "Quentin, what in the world is wrong with you?"

Shaking his head one more time for good measure, Quentin suddenly launched himself forward and hugged Peter. The latter lightly patted the other boy on the shoulders, confused.

"Bloody hell mate," Quentin said, pulling back. "It was in the papers, months back. You, my friend, are supposed to be dead. So when I saw you sitting in here laughing about something, I guess…well I guess I was so shocked I, well, um. Hit my head or something. Yeah…"

Susan chuckled. "Admit it, Quentin, you fainted. I don't blame you. I nearly did the same thing when Peter showed up at our front door, very much _not_ dead after we'd been told he _was_ dead."

All five of them looked up and out the train window as a whistle blew and an announcement came over the speakers calling for all passengers getting off at Arkley Station to disembark – it was time for the boys to get off.

"We better get going," Quentin said, looking to the Pevensies. "I wonder if we're rooming together again, Pete?"

Shrugging, Peter didn't answer as he reached down and tugged the crutch from under the seat. Setting it in place, he grunted as he stood and then paused at the sharp intake of breath from Quentin.

"Whoa," the other boy said, eyes riveted on the crutch. "Peter? What's that for? You still hurt or something? If you were presumed dead all those months ago, why do you still need a crutch? Unless…oh."

Peter raised a hand. "I'll have to explain later, Quen. We have to get off the train and it's going to take me longer than usual. And don't you have some luggage somewhere to collect?"

Snapping his fingers, Quentin nodded. "Right. Best get to that then. See you in school!"

As he bustled away, Edmund and Peter turned toward Lucy and Susan.

For the first time in a long time, they would be separated. And none of them knew what to say, or how to feel. For the entire time Peter had been gone, Mrs. Pevensie had kept her children home. This was the first time they would be away at school since getting word their father died and everything was so very different.

Susan and Lucy's gazes inevitably locked on Peter's hunched form.

"I don't want to go," Lucy blurted out. "Can't we all just go home? We can go next term, or…or something." She bit her lip to hold in the sob threatening to burst from her. "What if…what if you need us, Peter? Or Ed? We'll be so far away!"

Her nine-year-old senses couldn't contain the sorrow anymore and Lucy wrapped her arms around Peter, steadying him instinctively when he teetered from her onslaught.

"Oh Lu," he murmured into her hair, still surprised at how much she had grown since the first time they had been in Narnia. It felt like a lifetime ago – and in reality, at least for them, it had been far closer to a lifetime than most people knew. "We'll write to each other. Every day if you like. And there are the weekly phone calls, we're allowed those."

She shook her head in his shoulder. "It's not the same, Peter. What if you…what if?"

Edmund gripped her shoulder. "Stop with the what-ifs, Lu," he said, as gently as he could. "If we dwelled on them, we would never get past worrying and what kind of life would that be? I'll be with Peter and I'll make sure he's all right. And we _will _keep in touch."

Susan, as upset as she was, knew they had to move. "We'll hold you to writing every day," she said. "And to calling us every week. And don't forget to call Mum too. You can use Peter's call to talk to us and Ed's to talk to her, since you're only technically allowed one call."

She hugged her younger brother tightly and whispered in his ear, "Take care of him, Ed. Don't let him get like he did last time, at the How. Remind him he can still be magnificent."

Edmund nodded, solemn-faced. If he let any emotion onto his face he'd probably cry and that wouldn't do. Boys didn't cry. _Well that's not _entirely_ true, _he thought to himself. _Peter and I did our fair share of crying in Narnia this last time around…_

Lucy and Peter had broken up and they all shifted siblings, Susan and Peter saying quiet goodbyes and Lucy and Edmund hugging tightly. The crowd in the corridor began to lessen and Edmund knew that he had to get Peter moving or they wouldn't get off in time.

"We better hurry," he whispered to his brother. "You aren't as spry as you used to be, brother-mine."

Peter grimaced, but moved forward, allowing Edmund to carry his valise since he wasn't about to push his luck and do it himself. Lucy and Susan followed forlornly behind them, intending to wave them off.

The train attendant eyed Peter and his crutch as the young man paused in the train door, unsure exactly how best to get off without falling. Edmund solved his problem by pushing past him and standing below in case he should fall.

Peter smiled grimly before setting the crutch down and forcing his useless leg off the edge of the top step. Once that was done, he held on with his left hand and stepped with his left leg until he was standing on the step below the top. Repeating the actions twice, he was on the ground and sighing in relief.

Lucy and Susan stood at the nearest window, eyes glazed with unshed tears.

As the train moved with a lurch, they raised their hands, plastered smiles on their faces, and called out "write" as loudly as they could.

Peter and Edmund each waved until the train was out of sight before turning to one another and blinking. It was surreal, knowing that Lucy and Susan were now barreling away from them.

"Come on, Edmund," Peter finally said. "The assembly is probably going to start soon. I'm going to be slow enough as it is, I don't want to be late if I can help it. That would only draw _more_ attention to me than I'm already likely to get."

His brother said nothing, knowing that no matter how much Peter might like to avoid it, his being presumed dead, and now appearing with a paralyzed leg was going to draw a _lot_ of attention.

But he would be there to weather it with Peter.

He just hoped Peter would _let _him help.

* * *

_Arkley Academy assembly hall…_

"There, seats right by the door," Edmund whispered, pointing the chairs out to his brother. "We should be able to get to them without too many people seeing us. Since you're hell-bent on not attracting attention…"

Peter frowned. "You would be too, Ed," he said shortly. "I don't want people to bombard me with questions. Talking about my war experience isn't exactly pleasant, you know?"

Edmund held up his hands in surrender, "Sorry, Peter," he said quietly. "Don't get all defensive on me. Let's just get in there or we're going to get in trouble and that _will_ draw attention to both of us."

Nodding, Peter adjusted his grip on the crutch and moved as fast as he was able through the door to the nearest seat. Edmund followed quickly, casting his gaze about to ascertain how many people had noticed their entrance.

There were a few widened eyes and whispers to neighbors, but it was minimal.

_Mission accomplished,_ Edmund sighed to himself. _But getting out again is going to be hopeless, so I have no idea why Peter was so bent on sneaking _in_ here._

"And this year, we will be forming a fencing team, in addition to the many extra-curricular activities Arkley Academy already offers," Headmaster Clark said. There were excited twitters from some of the boys, but a rather disheartened one from one Peter Pevensie.

Edmund winced, knowing how much of blow that would be to his sword-fighting brother. _Why?_ He thought. _Why this year, of all years, do they bring in the club Peter would most enjoy? Fate is being awfully cruel this year._

Start of term announcements droned on and Peter let his mind drift. He was disappointed about the fencing club, and glanced at his brother with a moment of envy. Edmund – healthy, talented Edmund – would be able to wow the other boys in school with his fighting prowess, while gimpy Peter would have to sit by and watch.

_Stop that,_ he thought to himself. _Pride can be nasty business. I have other talents, I'll just have to focus on those with less physical demands. Like…like…oh like what? I'm a physical person. Maybe I should take up chess, like Edmund has always tried to get me to._

"Rooming assignments are posted on the board, lights out is 9 p.m. Classes start promptly at 7:30 tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep, boys, I expect every one of you to be bright eyed in the morning."

There was a mad rush for the boards, but Peter and Edmund stayed where they were. They could see Quentin and another boy approaching through the throng and Peter knew his friend would have found out the rooming assignments for all three of them.

Turning, he saw Edmund standing. "You leaving?" he asked quietly.

Edmund nodded. "I have to go get my rooming assignment," he said. "I'll come back to walk you to your room, just stay here and chat with Quentin and that other friend of yours, what's his name, Terrance?"

Peter smiled. "Yeah. I'll be here. Sitting. Waiting. Don't be too long."

He turned his attention to Terry and Quentin as they arrived, the former thumping him on the back and congratulating him on "being back in the world of the living" as Edmund hurried out of the assembly hall.

Spying just the man he needed to see, he called out, "Headmaster Clark!"

The man stopped and waited while Edmund ran up to him. "What is it, young man? I have a lot to do tonight to prepare for start of classes tomorrow."

Edmund swallowed, looking around. "I was wondering if I could speak to you about rooming assignments, sir," he said.

Clark shook his head. "If you don't like your roommate, that isn't my problem. You'll just have to grow up and learn to live with it. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He turned to walk away, but Edmund leveled an oddly grown-up glare on him that made him pause. "Sir, I have no qualms with my roommate, I don't even know who it _is_ yet as I haven't checked," he said firmly. "This is about my brother, Peter Pevensie."

Clark frowned. "Pevensie, you say, I think I remember a Pevensie. Blonde hair, top marks in his class? Quiet fellow, never gets in trouble. What does _he_ have to do with _your_ rooming assignment?"

Edmund drew in a deep breath.

"He was drafted into the army while home from school," he said. "We received word he had been killed in Germany, which he hadn't been obviously, but he _had_ been badly wounded. He's paralyzed in one leg and I worry he may need more help than he is willing to admit or ask for. If I were to room with him, I could see to his needs as I am already familiar with what they are." As an afterthought he threw in, "sir."

The headmaster deflated a little and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Damned war," he muttered, then remembering he had an audience with young ears, he frowned. "This war has taken far too many of my students, far too many. I'll grant your request, Pevensie. But don't go spreading the news around or I'll have a line out my door with assignment change requests."

Edmund smiled. "Mum's the word, sir," he said with a small grin. "And thank you. I really appreciate it, headmaster."

Nodding, Clark spun on his heel and strode away.

With a now-weary sigh, Edmund turned back to the assembly hall. "Now, to get Peter to agree -- _that _bit was the easy part." Shaking his head, he hurried back in and returned to Peter's table where he caught the tail end of the conversation going on.

"… we're your mates, Pete, you won't even tell us?" Terry whined.

Edmund watched Peter tense up and shiver and he saw red. But he held his tongue and his temper, as a King would be forced to do. Good thing it had only been a few hours since Narnia or that might not have been the case.

"Peter, Terry, Quentin," he said cheerfully. "Sorry to barge in, but I have to speak to you, Peter. It's very important. Sorry guys, I have to steal my brother back for the time being."

The two boys stood up and nodded. "All right, Pevensie Jr.," Terry said with a laugh. "He's all yours. He's not being forthcoming right now anyway." Quentin glared at the other boy and smacked him, muttering about "have some heart, mate" as they walked away.

Peter let his head fall into his hands. "What was I thinking by coming to school, Ed?" he said dejectedly. "I'm going to be everyone's favorite topic of conversation. If I _had_ died, it would have died down. If I hadn't been wounded, no one would have known I'd fought. If I hadn't had this bum leg, they still wouldn't have known I was wounded."

He looked up tiredly. "This is going to be horrid."

Edmund plopped down beside him. "Well, I have a solution for a little of that," he said happily. "I'm allowed to room with you, so you'll have a sanctuary from all that attention."

Peter's head snapped up at that. "What? That's unusual, they don't put different years together." His look of confusion changed to one of contemplation when Edmund flushed. "Ed? What did you do?"

The younger boy couldn't deny his brother. "I just asked the headmaster if it would be all right!" he exclaimed. "So I could help you and all!" He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "It's the best way, Peter. You are going to need help, definitely in the beginning."

Peter clutched the crutch and in a lightning fast move that surprised his brother had it set under his arm and had stood before Edmund realized he was moving. How he had done that, the younger boy couldn't figure, but the look on his brother's face stopped him from considering it.

"No way, Edmund!" Peter seethed. "I don't need a babysitter, or a nursemaid, or a mother hen. You can't just do things like that. I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but I need to get used to being a cripple and with you dogging my every move, I'm never going to be self-sufficient."

He could sense the storm brewing in Edmund's posture. "But Peter…"

The older boy shook his head and cut him off. "No, 'buts' Edmund Pevensie. I'm rooming with Quentin, just like last year. He can help me with anything I might need. I'll see you at meals and during free time. It's enough, Ed."

His brother leaned in close. "You aren't a High King here, Peter, you can't order me around…"

But Peter hissed back. "No, I can't. But _you _can't force me to room with you either. Now, go look on that board and find who you're staying with because it isn't me. I'll be in room 143, Castle Hall."

He grabbed his valise in his left hand and gripped the crutch in his right, moving off awkwardly.

Edmund scowled, then scooped up his own case, spun to face the board, found his room number and ran to Peter's side. Prying the case from his brother's hand, he grunted. "Fine, have it your way," he said angrily. "But I'm still walking you to your room. I _love_ you, Peter, and I just want to help you."

The older boy sighed and slumped. "I love you too, Edmund," he said, slowing. "I'm sorry I'm being so stubborn. But I really want to do things on my own. I _have_ to, don't you understand? I don't want to rely on you for every little thing."

Edmund frowned. "But you need your family, Peter, or you won't get through this intact. It's too much for one person, even High King Peter the Magnificent." He whispered the last bit, careful of passersby.

Peter didn't respond. But he was inwardly remembering Aslan's words – he would need to rely on his family when facing his challenges. But surely he didn't have to _over-_rely on them? No, this was the right choice. He'd ask for help when he needed it, and not a moment before.

As they reached Castle Hall and room 143, he sighed in relief when he saw the corridor was still deserted. Everyone else was probably meeting with friends or getting dinner. He was too tired for that.

"Here it is," he said, indicating the door. "If you could put my valise on the dresser, I should be fine and you can go meet your roommate and get settled in."

Edmund nodded, but said nothing. Pushing the door open, he walked in and held it for Peter. When his brother was through, he put the valise down and then watched as Peter sank onto the bed.

"When do you want to go to dinner?" he asked, leaning the crutch up against the nearby wall as Peter flung himself backwards onto his bed with a heavy sigh. "I'll meet you here, it's on my way."

There was a snore from the bed and Edmund jerked in surprise.

"Peter?"

Moving closer and bending over his brother's form, he found Peter fast asleep, one arm across his chest, the other flung beside his head on his pillow. With a small smile, he tugged the folded blanket from the end of the bed and laid it over the slumbering boy.

"Tired much, Peter?" he whispered.

Picking through his brother's valise, he found a pad and pen.

_Pete,_

_Since you so very rudely fell asleep while I was talking to you,  
__I was forced to resort to pen and paper. I'll swing by to meet  
__you for dinner at 6, just in case you get up before then. If not,  
__well, I suppose I'll be waking you up and this will be moot!_

_Ed_

Smiling, he placed the note on the pillow beside Peter's head and walked to the door. With one last glance in, he moved out into the hallway and closed the door with a gentle click.

_A/N: Review if you can!! I loooooooove them! _


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N: I'm pretty happy with this chapter! Lots of scenes just sort of wrote themselves! Just a forewarning for all you loyal readers, I might not be on tomorrow to post since I have a job I have to do tomorrow night and probably won't have time to write. But I'll be back soon after! Enjoy this and please let me know what you think!_

**Part Twenty-Six:**

"Aslan…"

Peter jerked and turned over, his right leg flopping awkwardly on the bed, tangled with the light blanket Edmund had laid over him before leaving the room.

Quentin stared at his roommate, uncertain if he should wake him. Peter didn't appear to be having a nightmare, but he _was_ talking out loud and it wouldn't be right if Quentin heard something he wasn't supposed to hear.

"Why, Aslan? Haven't I already suffered enough?"

Wringing his hands together, Quentin made his decision and moved toward the door to the room, swinging it open with the intent to find Peter's brother Edmund.

He didn't have to go far.

Edmund was standing in the doorway, poised to knock.

"Aslan, I can't do this…"

Quentin saw the other boy's eyes widen before he was nearly bowled over in Edmund's haste to reach Peter. He wasted no time in shaking the older boy awake.

"Peter! You're dreaming," he called out, watching as blue eyes snapped open with a whispered "Aslan?"

Thinking fast, Edmund shook his head. "Uncle Aslan isn't here, Peter. Remember, you're in school. But I'll bet he wouldn't mind you writing to him, if you need to talk again."

"Uncle…Uncle Aslan?" Peter queried, rubbing his eyes hard and sitting up in bed. "What…"

Edmund shushed him with a hard look. "You were calling for Uncle As in your sleep, Peter," he said. "Were you dreaming about talking to him about the war again?"

Catching on – as he caught sight of Quentin behind Edmund – Peter nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about that." He met his old friend's eyes. "Please don't go spreading around that I talk in my sleep, Quen?"

The other boy raised his right hand and smiled. "On my honor, Pete. I won't tell a soul. It's no one's business anyhow. But mate, you might want to talk to someone if you are disturbed enough to talk in your sleep."

"I'll think about it, thanks," Peter said with a groan as he eyed the crutch leaning against the nearby wall and proceeded to scoot awkwardly across the mattress until he could grab it and lever himself up.

He ignored the very obvious hovering Edmund.

Nor did he comment on the raised eyebrow look from Quentin, who he could tell had a massive set of wheels turning in that head of his – just dying to ask why Peter appeared to be so unused to his crutch.

Quentin, thankfully, was not one to pry where it wasn't his business and with Edmund on one side and him falling in step on the other, Peter was relatively content as they made slow progress toward the dining hall.

That contentment disappeared as gazes shifted to the door when the three boys entered and conversation slowed to a dull murmur. Trying not to frown, and trying to shrug off the stares, Peter hobbled as steadily as he could to the nearest table and paused.

Eyes were still on him as he glared at the bench seat in front of him, then turned himself around and lowered himself down on the bench. Still not wiling to ask for help, he laid the crutch down on the floor under the bench, careful not to tip forward, and then straightened up and with a heavy sigh, grabbed hold of his leg and unceremoniously dragged it over the bench.

His other was easy enough to bring over and he was sitting, proud of this small accomplishment. Of course, the room was now eerily silent and it was beginning to bother him.

"I'm sure there are other things to look at, people. Have a little respect."

Peter wanted to wince at the distinctly "King Edmund" tone in his little brother's voice, but he didn't want to add to the situation so he just raised an eyebrow and looked out at the assembled students.

There was an obvious effort on the part of the students to shift their attention back to their mundane conversations. Peter, glancing out over the heads of the students, met the gaze of Headmaster Clark, who nodded to him before turning back to Professor Harkin.

"Well, that wasn't too bad," Quentin said cheerfully, though the cheer was tinged with sarcasm. "Maybe in a month or two they'll totally forget about you, Peter."

Groaning, Peter shook his head and reached for the sweet potatoes beside his right arm. "I hope it's sooner than that, Quen," he said. "I don't like all the attention."

Beside him, Edmund was dishing out his own meal, oblivious to the fact that normally he would have sought out his own friends. But then again, Edmund's friends from the last term they had attended school were no longer the sort the dark-haired boy would hang out with. He had changed drastically since their first time in Narnia.

"Oy, Edmund!"

Twisting in his seat with a grimace, Edmund saw the old ringleader of his former posse of friends rapidly approaching through the crowded dining hall.

"Rupe," the younger Pevensie said with a small grimace. "Good to see you well." _Though I'd rather not have to see you at all,_ he thought inwardly.

The red-haired boy came to a halt just behind Edmund's seat and glanced non-to-secretly at Peter, a sneer plastered on his face. "Why aren't you sitting with us, mate? Too busy babysitting the older brother?"

Peter bristled beside him and Edmund could see Quentin lay a restraining hand on his brother's leg before remembering it had no feeling and moving the hand to Peter's arm.

Edmund's face drew into a tight scowl as he peered up at Rupert Halliwell through his too-long fringe. "Sorry, Rupe," he said sweetly. "I didn't know I needed your permission to sit with my brother, nor that helping someone was considered babysitting. Is _that _what I was doing all the last term when I helped you with your homework? Fancy that…"

Rupert's face turned a bright shade of red and he huffed. "Funny, Pevensie," he said with a slight growl of frustration. "Go right ahead and keep on doing the goody-boy routine." The boy looked over at Peter again, but said nothing to him. Turning, he stalked off.

Wrinkling his nose, Edmund turned back to his food as if nothing had happened. Peter was still beside him, staring at the boy with surprise. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Edmund, what was that?"

Not looking up from his meal, Edmund waved his hand. "That was Rupert Halliwell and he's a bully." Now he did look up. "And I used to be one, Peter. I don't want to associate with that anymore so…I took care of it. I'll make new friends."

Peter frowned. "Not if you keep 'babysitting your older brother', you won't." He picked at the chicken on his plate. "I'm making things difficult already."

Edmund sighed, putting his fork down. "It's no trouble, Peter. You're more important than some friends," he said. "Besides, Quentin there is a good man, I'll be friends with him!"

Quentin smiled. "No problem. You're a good kid Pevensie Jr."

But Peter wasn't convinced. "Friends your _own_ age Ed," he chided. "Not _my_ age." Looking out across the hall, he gestured vaguely. "If you stay with me, all of _them_ are going to ostracize you."

Edmund shook his head. "Nah," he said. "They'll get over you soon. And then things will be fine. Just wait and see and have a little faith."

Peter sighed. Sometimes there was just no use arguing with Edmund.

* * *

_The next morning…_

Peter groaned as he ran a brush through his blonde hair, tipped to the side to stay upright. His crutch was leaning on the sink in front of him and he was dressed, though that had taken a long time since he found the job to be better suited to someone with four arms, not two.

When his hair was somewhat flat, he tossed the brush into his toiletries basket and eyed the crutch on the wall. On a whim, he reached down and smacked his right leg, only to have to clutch the sink as the action knocked him off balance.

There hadn't been any feeling in the leg.

"Damn, damn, damn," Peter muttered, breathing steadily to calm himself. It was never fun feeling like you were going to fall over and knowing it before hand.

"All right there, Peter?"

Craning his head, the eldest Pevensie spied his brother leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, arms crossed across his chest – though it appeared to be less a position of comfort than a way for Ed to restrain himself from rushing to Peter's side.

Shaking his head, Peter turned away and reached for the crutch. "I'm fine, Ed," he said with a scowl. "I just had to check, you know. Just in case. But there's still nothing."

Edmund chose not to comment as Peter drew abreast of him, clutching his basket in his left hand and leaning heavily on the crutch. The top of the crutch was wrapped with an old shirt and Edmund raised an eye at that.

"What?" Peter said with a grimace. "It was killing my underarm! Might not look very nice, but it's effective."

Raising his hands in surrender, Edmund laughed. "I didn't say anything! It's your armpit, I'll leave it to you to protect it." He dodged out of the way as Peter's toiletry basket swung at him.

As it headed back to Peter's side, Edmund swiped it with a smile and went back into his brother's room to return it to the shelf in the closet. Quentin came out, watching Edmund with a shake of the head.

"Active, that one," he said to Peter. "Always on the move?"

Peter nodded with a small smile. "That's Edmund."

"What's Edmund?"

"Never mind."

(((((((((( )))))))))))))

"Here's my stop," Quentin said, turning to Peter and Edmund just outside the algebra classroom. "I'll meet you two for lunch, then? What do you have right before, Pete? Biology?"

Peter looked at the timetable in his hand and nodded. "Yeah, with Professor Harkin. I'll wait there for you guys."

Edmund appeared to be deep in thought. Then he turned to the two older boys. "I'll be a little late," he said. "I'm coming from the other side of the school. I'll just meet you outside the dining hall."

Quentin shrugged. "Fine by me," he said, then turned and entered the classroom.

Peter and Edmund continued on, the former already feeling the burn in his back from leaning on his crutch. Today was going to be rough if he was already sore and hadn't even made it to one class yet.

Edmund probably noticed, but had chosen not to comment. In a few minutes they reached an intersection of corridors – Edmund's history class was to the right and Peter's Latin class to the left.

"I can get there from here," Peter said, nodded down the right corridor, "you can go to your class. You don't want to be late." He made to leave but Edmund drew abreast of him again.

Setting his best "I'm King Edmund and I'm not going to back down" look on his face, the younger boy shook his head. "It's no trouble, Peter," he said. "I'll walk you there. You aren't used to carrying your book bag and at least for the morning, I'd like to be here in case you need help."

Peter huffed in annoyance. "I haven't fallen yet, Ed," he said, wearily deciding not to argue with his brother or they'd both be late to class.

Edmund grunted. "Yes, I remember you saying something quite similar back in Narnia. Before you proceeded to trip on a rug and reopen your shoulder wound…"

His brother eyed him with a level glare, but couldn't argue. It was true.

Slowing to a halt outside his classroom, he turned to Edmund full on. "I appreciate the help, Ed," he said. "But don't be outside this classroom when I get out. Your next class is completely in the other direction…and you will be late."

Edmund wanted to argue, but Peter had on his best "I'm High King Peter and even though you're a king, you have to listen to me now" look on his face and it was something the younger boy never came out on top after seeing.

"Right, fine," he said. "But don't overdo it, Peter. I don't want to have to scrape you up off a hospital wing bed and drag you back to your room later today."

Peter stuck out his tongue childishly and then hobbled into the doorway behind him. Edmund glances at his watch and then gasped. "Oh damn," he said, turning and bolting down the hallway. He was a minute away from being late to his first class.

* * *

_Lunchtime…_

It wasn't unusual for Quentin to tag along with Peter. But it was unusual for him to channel Edmund with his hovering and with a frown Peter wondered if his brother and his best mate had been talking behind his back.

_Maybe they devised this "dog Peter's every hobble" plan when I was in the bathroom this morning_, he thought to himself with a small shake of the head. _Edmund, you are too much sometimes._

"Where is Pevensie Jr.?" Quentin complained, craning his neck and trying to see over the incoming students streaming into the dining hall. "He's late. We've been waiting five whole minutes and I'm a strapping, young, healthy, growing boy. I need my food."

Peter laughed. "Yes, it must take a lot of food to feed that ego of yours, Quen," he said with a smile. "I don't see him. It can't hurt to go in and find a seat. He'll just have to look for us."

Turning around, careful not to trip anyone with his crutch, Peter let Quentin lead him into the dining hall. He nearly bowled into the other boy when his friend stopped short.

"So that's why he wasn't out there!" Quentin exclaimed, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Edmund! We were waiting for five whole minutes for you outside!"

Peter peered around Quentin and his eyes narrowed.

Edmund was standing at the end of the closest table, in the middle of pushing a desk chair up to the end where there was no bench in the way. He looked up at Quentin's voice.

"Oh, sorry about that," he said, gesturing to the chair. "It took a bit longer than I expected getting this through the masses without clocking anyone over the head with it."

The younger boy noticed Peter had not moved toward them and was glaring at him. Inwardly, he had been expecting a fight, but he had held out hope it wouldn't be the case. He could feel that hope crumble up and fade away.

"What's that?" Peter said, still not moving. "Because, last I checked, there were benches in here and therefore no need for chairs…"

Quentin, sensing the turmoil, halted midway between Peter and Edmund. "Whoa, boys," he said diplomatically. "No sibling spats in the dining hall. I'm sure that's a school rule."

Edmund glared right back at Peter. "You had trouble last night and this morning. This'll help. Just take the seat, Peter," he said. "It's not a big deal. And I already lugged it all the way here."

Peter hobbled over to the table and resolutely stood to the right of the bench end. With a fierce scowl, he thrust the crutch toward Edmund who reeled to catch it.

Then without so much as a warning, Peter leaned down and grasped the table top, and sat on the edge of the bench. Sliding to the left, he easily moved down until he was sitting comfortably at the table.

Reaching forward to the closest food, he turned to Edmund. "Since you _did_ lug it all the way down here, feel free to sit on it," he said, before turning away and loading his plate.

Quentin, standing where he had first stop, met Edmund's gaze over the blonde Pevensie's head and shrugged. The younger brother shook his head and angrily thrust the crutch under the bench Peter was sitting on, non-to-gently smacking into his good foot.

"You're being stupid, Peter," he grumbled. "You won't always be able to get an end bench seat. Someday someone is going to refuse to budge over for you and you'll wish you had this chair."

Peter looked over at him briefly. "Doubt it. I can sit on a bench, Edmund. I don't need you to go getting me chairs. What are you going to do next? Build a ramp so I don't have to go up and down the five steps outside?"

He briefly wished he could take back the words, since it was obvious they had hurt Edmund by the look on his brother's face. But the look vanished as Edmund regained his defiance and glared at Peter.

"Suit yourself," he said, dishing food out onto his own plate. "But don't come complaining to me if you can't wedge yourself into a seat in here without belting someone with your floppy leg."

Edmund winced inwardly. _Oh that was callous, Ed_, he thought as he saw Peter bristle at the term "floppy leg". But it was too late to take it back now and he resolutely refused to apologize. If Peter could be so stubborn, so could he.

Wanting to have the last word, Peter grimaced. "I won't. I'll just be sure that "someone" is you, dear brother. Surely you wouldn't hold it against me?"

The two both scowled and Quentin flung his hands up in the air. "Why me?" He looked from one to the other. "You love each other so much that you can't stand each other! Amazing."

Peter smacked him in the arm. "Shut up, Quen."

* * *

_In Edmund's room after classes… _

Flinging his book bag onto his bed, ignoring the crash it made when it slammed into the wall, Edmund paced the center of his room, glad that his roommate was nowhere in sight.

"Damn him," Edmund grumbled. "Too stubborn for his own good. He's going to overdo, I just know he is. He _always_ does. I wish Su and Lu went to school here, the three of us together can usually knock some sense into him."

Drawing to a stop in front of his dresser, Edmund put both hands on the top edge and pushed against it, squashing it against the wall to try and dispel his frustration.

"What did that dresser ever do to you?"

Spinning around, Edmund saw Quentin standing in his doorway. "What?"

The older boy stepped in and gestured to the dresser. "You appear to be trying to shove it through the wall?" He chuckled lightly when Edmund jerked his hands back and examined the indents in his palms.

"Did you stop by to tell me to lay off Peter?" He said, spinning toward his bed and shoving the battered book bag aside again to sit down. "Because if you did, I'll tell you now it's pointless. I'll get that stubborn git to accept some help if it takes me all term."

Quentin actually sighed. "It might," he said quietly, sitting on the bed beside Edmund. "I don't know you, really," he continued. "But I've known Peter since we were little. And something tells me you know what sort of challenge you are facing."

He leaned back on his elbows. "But something _else_ tells me you aren't, perhaps, familiar with what a permanent disability does to someone's mental state."

Edmund was listening now, shuffling back until he was up against the wall behind him. "Well, no, I've never had to deal with something like this before," he admitted. "Have you?"

The older boy nodded and also shifted back. "My father, fresh out of boot camp, was so excited to get a chance to fight in the war," he said, eyes distant. "It was his first battle and it wasn't even particularly nasty. But he was hit in the back by a shard of shrapnel and paralyzed from the waist down."

He ignored the sharp intake of breath from Edmund beside him, resolutely keeping his voice as calm and as neutral as he could. Talking about his father wasn't easy.

"He was so bitter, Edmund," he said. "And he was nothing short of cruel sometimes. To me, my brother, especially my mother. It got so bad that my parents nearly divorced over it."

Edmund gulped beside him and in a voice that belied his age, asked, "Did it ever get better?"

Quentin shifted so he was facing the boy beside him, taking in the knees tucked to the chest and the trepidation in the eyes. "Yes," he said gently. "But it took time. I can't count the number of days I would walk downstairs to find my father on the ground, unable to get up after a fall. And he was always so angry.

"After a while, he learned that it was all right to ask for help. After that, things got better and my parents didn't fight as much. My father started to live again."

Reaching out, he laid a hand on Edmund's shoulder. "Give him time. Something tells me he hasn't been lame in one leg for very long," he said. "He's acting like my father did at first. Like it's all a bad dream and will go away. Denial. Stick by him, Edmund, because the day will come when he does need you."

Standing, he faced the bed. "Let him simmer for a bit. Let him fall a few times. And then be there to collect him when he realizes he needs your help," he said. "I'll look out for him in the meantime."

With a frown, he added, "Just, try to watch how you bait him. Don't let your own frustration get between you. My parents would do that all the time, and their words hurt each other more than anything."

As he reached the door, he cracked a smile. "And if you tell Peter I was here and we talked," he said with a wicked grin, "I'll have to deny everything and tell him you're loony."

Edmund smiled a little at that and nodded. "I won't tell him. And Quentin? Thank you. I was already angry when you guys came in and I let things get out of hand. It won't happen again."

As the door clicked shut, Edmund shifted and flung his head back onto his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Quentin's story made him feel a little better, knowing that what was happening with him and Peter was normal.

He scowled as he remembered just _why _he had been in such a sour mood when Peter and Quentin had entered the dining hall.

"_Well, well, what have we here? The babysitting brother!"_

_Edmund rolled his eyes before turning around to face Rupert and his cohorts, Hank and Martin, all Edmund's age-mates and former friends. They sure didn't waste any time turning on him._

"_Rupe," Edmund said, hefting his book bag higher on his shoulder. "And your sidekicks Hank and Martin. Did you need something in particular, because I'm meeting someone for lunch and I'm already late." He gripped the chair beside him harder when the other boys' eyes alighted on it._

_Hank, the biggest and dumbest of the bunch, put a foot up on the chair seat and grinned. "That your brother's throne? Cause you wait on him hand and foot like a little servant boy serves a King?"_

_Edmund inwardly shook his head, because outwardly would only cause more trouble. _If only you knew, you dumb oaf_, he thought to himself. Peter __**was**__ a king, and always would be to Edmund. The irony wasn't lost on the younger boy._

_Rupert shoved Hank's foot off the chair and sat himself down in it, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles._

"_Don't be a git, Hank," he grunted. "Little Eddy needs to bring his cripple brother a chair. Next he'll be bringing him breakfast in bed. And then, dare I say, he'll be doing his homework. Must be nice for your brother, not having to do anything, and all because of a bum leg. I'll bet he let himself get hurt on purpose."_

_That did it. Edmund grabbed hold of the chair and yanked hard, toppling Rupert to the ground with a surprised yelp followed by a howl of pain as the boy landed hard on the tile floor._

"_Don't you ever insinuate my brother let himself be shot so he could get out of a little homework, you worthless piece of scum," he hissed, not shouted, in a dangerously low voice right into Rupert's ear. "I don't care how many thugs you bring with you, if I hear so much as a whisper like that again I'll pummel you and I don't care if they expel me for it."_

_Without so much as a backwards glance, Edmund grasped the chair and hoisted it up. He walked away, leaving Hank and Martin to drag Rupert to his feet. He knew he would be in for it later, once Rupert regained his dignity. Edmund could only hope it didn't include a sound pummeling of his body._

Shifting so he was no longer against the wall, Edmund flopped backwards and let his head rest on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He was angry at himself for letting his brush with Rupert, Hank and Martin leech into his treatment of Peter.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. What was done, was done and he wasn't going to dwell on it. _Easier said then done_, he grumbled to himself.

With a sigh, he crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. If Peter didn't want help, Edmund would lay off for a bit and observe from a little further away. He wasn't about to leave Peter to fend for himself.

The masses had been pretty quiet so far, but as the novelty of a wounded war veteran in their midst died down, Edmund expected there would probably be others like Rupert who would use Peter's disability against him.

"I still can't _believe_ he suggested Peter got hurt on purpose!" Edmund exclaimed, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory. "Who would do something like that?!"

There was a quiet huff of breath beside him and Edmund nearly jumped off the bed. His roommate, a skinny boy named Percival, shook his head and laughed at Edmund's surprise.

"Sorry I startled you," he said, "but you just sounded so indignant. It's true though, there are people out there who injure themselves to get out of war duty." He held up a hand when Edmund looked ready to jump down his throat. "I'm not saying your brother did that. Matter of fact, I doubt it because most who do that are cowards and their injuries are minor. Your brother obviously went through a lot."

Edmund calmed down and grumbled a "Yeah" to his roommate before the room fell into quiet and the boys broke open their shiny, new textbooks for their first set of homework assignments.

* * *

_In Peter and Quentin's room..._

"Floppy leg? Floppy leg? I'll give _him_ a floppy leg," Peter muttered, sitting on his bed with his useless leg jutting out in front of him and a deep frown on his face as he stared at it. "He's right though. It _is_ useless."

Fingering the pant leg, he poked and prodded the leg in question and concentrated, hoping to feel even the slightest sign of something. But there wasn't anything.

Glancing at the closed door, he shook his head. "Oh Aslan, I know you warned me, but I just don't know if I can _do _this! This stupid leg's put a wedge between Ed and I, and I just know it's only a matter of time before people start rumors about why I'm like this."

With a weary sigh, he eyed his book bag and the pile of homework he had already been given. He'd been groaning an awful lot that day, but what was one more?

"Is life really that bad?"

Peter jerked and dropped the book he'd just pulled out. "Quen!" He seethed. "Stop _doing _that! That...sneak-up-on-people-and-scare-the-wits-out-of-them thing."

The other boy laughed and flung himself down on the end of Peter's bed. "Oh come on, you know you love it!" He fingered the book his roommate had dropped. "You're not going to start studying already are you? It's far too early!"

Tugging the book back, he nodded. "I don't have much else to do anyway. It's not like I can go out and play cricket or something." He gazed out the window and frowned.

Quentin sighed now. "Peter, you've got to stop moping," he said suddenly, drawing a glare from the other boy but not letting it affect him. His father's glares had been a hundred times worse.

He felt the bed shift and was surprised to see Peter shove his leg off the edge and grab his crutch. "What are you doing?" he said, confused. "I thought you were studying?"

Peter turned to him with a fierce look. "My moping appears to be bothering you, so I'll take it to the library where I can mope in peace," he said shortly.

The other boy shook his head. "Pete," he said, "you and my father a few months ago would have gotten on sportingly."

His friend stopped at that and turned back to him. "What are you on about?"

Quentin stood and steered Peter back toward the bed, pulled the crutch from his grasp and pushed the other boy until he was seated again, bewildered now.

"I _mean_ you and he are lousy disabled people," he said. "Don't you remember? I wrote you about my dad's paralysis?"

Peter's jaw dropped. It had been just before he'd left to fight himself when Quentin had written to say his father had been wounded and was left paralyzed from the waist down.

Turning wide eyes on his best mate, he swallowed. "I'm sorry, Quen," he said. "I had forgotten. I've just had so much on my mind and I ... I'm sorry. I didn't even ask how he was doing."

The other boy waved him off. "I understand, Peter," he said. "Probably more than anybody here, actually. He's better now, he lets us help him and he has started doing things he used to love. Like going fishing. His arms are wicked strong now and he casts like a pro."

Peter chuckled. "I'll bet," he said quietly, no longer intent on leaving.

Eying Quentin, he took a deep breath. "So, how did he adjust? To not being able to walk? Relying on everyone for help all the time? He must have been...angry."

_Because I know that I am,_ he thought to himself.

Patting Peter on his good leg, Quentin nodded. "Yeah, he was angry for a while. He was mean." He eyed Peter before continuing slowly. "A bit like you were with Edmund earlier."

Peter winced but didn't reply.

"Yep, it got so bad that Mum and Dad nearly divorced. For a while, they didn't speak to each other and we really thought they would never speak again."

Peter looked at him from the corner of his eye, but still didn't speak. Quentin knew, though, that he had the blonde boy's attention now.

"Mum was _this_ close to just flinging in the towel and giving up," he continued, pretending not to hear Peter shifting uncomfortably beside him. "I tell you, Pete, he was a right bastard at times."

There was a flop as Peter flung himself backward and put his arm over his eyes with a groan. "I'm an _idiot_," he said. "Aren't I?"

Quentin brightly nodded. "Yes, I'd say so."

Peter glared at him. "Oh, you're supposed to say, 'Of course not, Peter, you're a wonderful chap and I'm glad to call you my best mate'."

The two boys laughed for a moment before Quentin leaned against the wall beside Peter's bed and gestured to Peter's leg. "So how did this happen?" he said quietly. "I'll understand if you don't want to give me details, but you know I'm not going to go spread things around and you might need someone to talk to when you and Edmund are at odds."

Peter sighed and removed the arm from in front of his eyes slowly, peeking out at Quentin before replacing it there and frowning. "Was a bit over three months ago," he said quietly. "We were retreating and, I had to be Peter and couldn't leave anyone behind." He pushed his arm tighter to his face, not wanting to look at Quentin as he spoke.

The words were stuck in his throat and he let out a puff of breath before pulling his arm from his face and awkwardly sitting up to lean against the wall beside Quentin.

Patience wasn't something Quentin was good at, but he held his tongue and waited to see if Peter would go on. When nothing was forthcoming, he ventured, "So...you...what? Got shot?"

There was a pause. Then a nod.

Seeing how it was going, Quentin pursed his lips. "And...it...hit you in the back?" There was a shake "no" at that, so Quentin frowned and said, "Um...went _near_ your back?"

Peter nodded hesitantly, still not speaking.

Quentin drew in a breath. "You're not going to make this easy, are you Peter?" He muttered, shifting to look at his friend who was staring off across the room silently. "Do you want to just leave this alone for now?"

Peter almost said yes. Could feel the word on the tip of his tongue. But it wasn't what came out. "No," he whispered. "I...I want you to know what really happened, because there will be all kinds of rumors soon."

He peeked at Quentin now. "I didn't lose feeling right away," he said. "It was later…at the hospital. And at first I couldn't feel either of them." He knew he was on slippery ground now, so he continued slowly. "There was swelling. It went down, but the damage was done and I never got feeling back in this leg."

His friend nodded lightly. "So you've had to learn to deal with it pretty recently, huh?"

Peter sighed and bobbed his head up and down. "I'm beginning to wonder if coming to school was a bad idea," he said haltingly, picking at a thread on his blanket. "Maybe it's just too much to do at once. Getting used to this _and_ being back in school. I mean, it's surreal to be here after being in Germany." _Or Narnia..._

But Quentin was shaking his head. "No, it's good that you're here," he said. "My dad wallowed in self-pity and bitterness at home all day while we were in school and mum worked. Being around others, can be bad with the bullies and people who don't understand, but it is also a good thing."

He jostled Peter. "Are you good? No more leaping down your brother's throat? Because I'd hate to see you guys at odds like my parents were," he said with a mock glare.

Peter scrunched up his face. "What're you, my mother?" But he laughed soon after. "I'll be good. I just need time to adjust and I don't like being smothered."

Quentin nodded. "Right then, noted. Don't smother Peter."

He dodged a playful slap and then the two sighed and flipped open books on Peter's bed, content now to silently study.

_A/N: Nudges you readers to hit that little Review button so we can have 200 reviews! What a milestone! Didn't think I'd be getting that many on this story, nor did I think this story would be so LONG._


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N: This chapter might be a little confusing to some of you because there have been some changes to chapter one, and there will be coming changes to other chapters, that reflect an attempt to make the beginning of the story more historically accurate. So, to make it easy if you don't go back and reread chapter one, Peter was not wounded in Germany, but in Greece. I found a battle that was fought there that fit in my timeline, involved British troops and was lost. Over the next few days, earlier chapters will be revised to reflect these changes, so if you fancy reading the whole story again, feel free! (Oh, and don't forget to review and tell me if you like the changes!)_

Part Twenty-Seven:

Over the course of the next week, Peter and Edmund managed to find a level of "Edmund-hovering" that was comfortable for both of them, but even the teachers could tell there was still tension between the brothers.

Quentin had tried to act as mediator on top of supporting both of them when they needed it, but it was beginning to wear on his school work and he knew it wasn't going to be long before he had to focus more on his studies and less on Peter and Edmund's ongoing struggles.

"All right, that's it! I've had _enough_ of this!" Peter called out from across the room where he, Quentin and Edmund were all studying before lunch and afternoon classes. "I mean, how many times am I _actually_ going to use Latin in my life!?"

From the ground near his bed, Edmund chuckled but didn't reply.

Quentin looked up from his own bed and shook his head. "I don't know, Pete," he said. "But, I wouldn't let Professor Darian hear you say something like that. He'll soundly berate you in English _and_ Latin and then probably make you translate what he said during detention."

Peter laughed, closing his book and leaning over to grab his crutch. Setting it under his arm, the top now neatly wrapped in a hand towel, he pushed up until he was standing and nudged Edmund with the bottom end of the crutch.

"Come on, I'm hungry," he said. "They should have the serving line in order now."

With a groan, Edmund heaved himself to his knees and then to his feet and stretched. There were two audible pops as he extended his arms above his head and rose to the balls of his feet. The dark-haired boy winced on the second and rubbed his arm.

"I shouldn't have studied on the ground for so long," he muttered ruefully.

Behind him, pulling his school blazer back on, Quentin chuckled. "Only you two. I can't count the times Peter used to do that too." He drew abreast of the Pevensies and gestured grandly toward the open door. "After you, Sir Edmund and Sir Peter," he joked.

Peter and Edmund felt smiles about to erupt on their faces, so they turned and hurried – or in Peter's case hobbled quickly – through the doorway to hide them. Quentin, ever observant though, knew his words had made _some_ impression, but for the life of him couldn't figure out _what_.

Realizing he had been lagging in the room, he surged forward and flung the door shut behind him.

* * *

Peter was on his second helping of shepherd's pie when the dining hall went completely silent – an unusual occurrence when full of rambunctious young men glad for a reprieve from classes.

Frowning, he twisted in his seat and looked toward the doorway.

There were two military police officers standing in the entranceway, the Headmaster beside them skimming the student tables as if looking for someone. He appeared to find him and with a frown pointed in the direction of the table Peter, Edmund and Quentin were seated at.

Dressed in the uniform of the Army, with red caps and a black armband emblazoned with a red "MP", they made their way through the tables filled with students, their sidearms very visible at their hips.

Peter's hand hovered between his plate and his mouth as they continued even closer, eyes seemingly locked with his. No, not seemingly – actually locked with his. Peter let his hand fall, released the fork and swallowed thickly.

What was going on?

"Corporal Pevensie?" said, the larger of the two men, a staff sergeant by the insignia he wore. "You'll need to come with us." His hand hovered near his sidearm, but wasn't actually touching it. Yet.

Peter didn't move immediately, completely confused by the sudden appearance.

Headmaster Clark appeared at the men's elbows, looking like he had just decided something. "I'd like to know _why_ young Peter has to come with you," he said to the men. "As a student enrolled at this school, his well-being is of concern to me."

The staff sergeant glanced briefly at the headmaster before looking back down at Peter. "The corporal is under arrest for failing to return to duty and allowing the military to continue to believe he had been killed in action," he said, a tinge of loathing in his tone, though he did a decent job of hiding it. Deserters were the lowest of the low to the military.

Peter's eyes widened and he stuttered, "What!?"

Realizing who he was addressing, he added a hasty, "Sir, I _did_ notify the army, before I came to school last week. At the soonest possible moment." He looked at the other man, who wouldn't even meet his gaze. "I went to the recruitment office in Finchley and was told it would be taken care of and to go to school."

Frowning, the staff sergeant looked toward the Headmaster before continuing. "The regional headquarters has no record of such a visit, or of such a command, Corporal. As far as they are concerned, you're a deserter." He shifted his gaze to Edmund, who was clenching his fist so tightly around his cup, it was a wonder it hadn't broken. "Even if you _did _report in, you haven't received a discharge."

Again, Peter frowned. "The corporal at the office said I would," he said quietly. "It slipped my mind that I haven't received word yet." He was talking more to himself than the man now.

Sighing, the MP shook his head. "It's your word against the regional headquarters, and I think headquarters trumps you, so get up and be quick about it."

There was a clang as Edmund stood up and pushed his cup away from him with a deep scowl. Peter could see that the transformation from Edmund the schoolboy to Edmund the Just King had already taken place, and his brother was furious.

"I was there, waiting outside, when he went, so it's _our_ word against regional headquarters. He turned to his brother. "Peter?" the younger boy said icily. "Why don't you do as the man says, stand up and be quick about it?"

Drawing himself to his full height, the MP turned to Edmund with a grimace. "And who the hell are you, boy?"

Edmund, not in the least cowed, returned the grimace. "I'm Edmund Pevensie, the Corporal's brother," he said, just as icily as before. Looking down at Peter again, he grabbed his brother's arm and tugged. "Get up, Peter. Like the sergeant said."

Peter was shaking his head. "Edmund, stop it," he said, hissing it under his breath. But his brother was not a force to be reckoned with so deep was his fury. Glancing at the MP, Peter tried to calm the tension mounting. "I apologize for my brother, sir, he's upset," he said to the man.

Both MPs had moved their hands a little closer to their batons and Peter didn't want them to have to pull them out and use them on his little brother. Leaning down, he made to fish out his crutch under the bench, but Edmund pulled on his arm to stop him.

"No, Peter, they said get up, so do it."

Whispering, Peter shook his head. "You know I can't, Edmund."

Apparently not hard of hearing, the MP frowned. "Can't? And why can't you, Corporal?"

Peter looked up at the man, a scowl on his own face at the disdain in the man's voice. "I can't, _sir_, because only _one_ of my legs actually _works_," he said fiercely. His own ire mounting as he berated himself for not going above the corporal in that recruitment office, Peter grabbed his right leg and tugging, dumped it over the bench. It hit the ground with a thud and he swung the other over after it.

Reaching down further, he pulled the crutch out from under the table and used it to stand. Leaning heavily on it, he looked up and met the man's eyes again. This time, there was a little less hostility.

"Aren't you going to handcuff him or something?" Edmund asked angrily. "Oh, wait, how would he walk then?"

Peter turned a harsh glare on his brother, appreciating that Edmund cared deeply for him, but not appreciating how the younger boy was riling up the MPs. Thankfully, the staff sergeant appeared to be deep in contemplation and wasn't entirely tuned in to Edmund's comments.

"Obviously this boy is in no condition to go back out and fight a war," Headmaster Clark suddenly stated, moving to stand beside Peter who was fighting back the overwhelming urge of his body to start trembling. "There has been some sort of misunderstanding, surely you needn't _arrest_ him. He can't even walk unassisted, surely he couldn't be charged a deserter?"

The MPs were exchanging glances now, but said nothing immediately.

Edmund jumped back in. "You can't be entertaining the notion he _could_ rejoin his unit!" The boy seethed. "This war's already taken our father and the use of Peter's leg, isn't that enough, damn it?"

"Edmund, language!"

"Language!"

Peter and the Headmaster jerked in surprise as both said the same thing at the same time and even the MPs let out a small grin at that. Sobering, the staff sergeant pursed his lips. "I agree, young man, your brother can't fight anymore. But he needs to be properly discharged, nonetheless," he said. He turned back to Peter. "If you come with us, we'll take you to the army garrison and have a medic verify your condition and get the discharge papers signed. You'll be back for dinner if everything is in order."

Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, looking back at Edmund. His brother was still fuming, but at least he wasn't yelling at the officer for making _that_ suggestion.

The headmaster nodded his agreement. "That sounds fair," he said before turning his attention on Quentin, hovering at Edmund's elbow. "I would ask that you allow Mr. Connors to accompany Corporal Pevensie. He will need the assistance when he is dismissed."

Edmund bristled. "But…" he began, only to be cut off by a glare from the headmaster this time. "I…" a cock of the man's head stopped any further comment from the younger boy.

"You, young Mr. Pevensie," the headmaster said, "need a _little_ lesson in when it is appropriate to be sarcastic and when it is not. You are lucky you are underage, or these fine policemen may have been within their rights to arrest _you_."

Peter's pleading gaze was all that stopped Edmund from retorting. Seeing the trepidation in his older brother's eyes, Edmund all but deflated into a nearly sobbing mess. "Peter," he said quietly. "I…I'm sorry how I've been acting. Just…just hurry back, okay?"

Quentin moved around Edmund and took up a position to Peter's right.

"I'll be fine, Ed," Peter said with a small smile that came nowhere near his eyes. "I'll see you at dinner."

Edmund wanted to run after Peter as his brother, flanked by Quentin on one side and the MP staff sergeant on the other, passed through the entrance to the dining hall and out of Edmund's sight.

It almost felt like watching Peter step into that ring to duel Miraz. There was nothing he could do to help Peter, no way to protect him. A hand on his elbow shook him to awareness.

Looking up, he met Headmaster Clark's sympathetic gaze. "Come, Pevensie," he said. "We'll go have that talk now. Bring your meal, this might take a while."

Gulping, Edmund turned, grabbed his plate and amidst a sea of stares, followed the Headmaster out of the dining hall in silence.

* * *

_In the Headmaster's office… _

"Have a seat."

Edmund gulped, setting his plate down on his lap after he had lowered himself into the chair across from the Headmaster's desk. Looking up, he waited for the scolding to begin.

"Eat."

A frown crossed the young boy's face. "Sir?" he said, confused. "I thought you wanted to talk to me? About my sarcasm with the Redcaps. And…well…aren't you?"

With a small chuckle, the Headmaster shook his head. "No," he said. "That was just a ruse. I didn't think you wanted to remain in the dining hall after a scene like that, and I wanted to be sure you actually ate. So, eat."

With disbelief on his face, Edmund looked from the food on his lap to the Headmaster in front of him a few times before he shook of the shock and dug into his shepherd's pie, thoughts inevitably dwelling on Peter.

Those thoughts were interrupted when the man across from him leaned on the desk and spoke. "So, Edmund, is it?" At Edmund's nod, the Headmaster continued. "I'm hoping I was correct in supporting your brother, that he really is not a deserter, like I suspected."

Pausing in mid-bite, Edmund's eyebrows narrowed and he swallowed fast so he could speak. "My brother is no deserter," he fairly growled. "He is the most honorable person I have ever met. He would never do that. Peter spent three months in hospital after he was shot, and two more trying to get home."

Clark held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I believe you," he said quickly. "But I had to ask. I put a lot on the line when I spoke for your brother. Aiding and abetting a deserter is a serious offense."

Deflating, Edmund nodded. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I seem to be a little over-protective of my brother. He's just been through so much and when those Redcaps showed up, I just couldn't see past it when they said they were here to arrest him. After everything he's done."

Clark was silent for a moment.

"I notice your brother and you do not room together," he said. "Even after I gave you permission to stay with him. Is there a reason for that?"

Edmund sighed. "Peter's stubborn, sir," the boy said, picking at his plate now. "I told him but he said he had to learn to deal with his disability on his own. I just want to help him, but he keeps pushing me away."

Nodding, Clark sat back. "I expect he would," he said. "I imagine your brother feels he should be the big brother. The authority figure. Probably because of his age, and because of his military experience. To suddenly have to depend on you, his younger brother – in a military setting, a subordinate – must be difficult to grasp."

The younger Pevensie brother cocked his head to the side and looked at the Headmaster closely. "Sir? Did you fight in the war?" He added, "It just sort of sounds like you have an understanding of military men."

The Headmaster nodded. "I did," he said. "I fought in a number of engagements in the last war and rose to the rank of Second Lieutenant. Much like your brother, it was a wound that took me out of the fight." He glanced towards his right hand and pulled back on the sleeve.

Edmund followed the man's gaze to the Headmaster's right hand and gasped. There were only two fingers and a gnarled mess of scar tissue where there should have been a five-fingered hand.

Raising the damaged limb, the man met Edmund's eyes. "You didn't notice it, did you? Many don't. It's not something overly obvious. But it did take some time to learn to function with my left hand."

He pulled the cuff of his sleeve back down. "After this, you might find your brother to be a little less evasive," the Headmaster said. "Sometimes it takes a traumatic experience for one to realize the important things. Like family. And leaning on each other."

Edmund nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. "I think I have to talk to Peter."

Clark stood, gesturing to Edmund, who pushed his plate onto the desk and stood up. Steering the young boy around by the shoulders, the man nodded. "I think you do, as well. And it's best not to leave it for long. I will overlook you being out of bounds tonight. But only tonight."

With a smile, Edmund nodded. "Thank you sir," he said. As the door to the office shut behind him, he sighed and turned toward his brother's dormitory. He would wait there for Peter and Quentin to return.

This "at-arms-length" business with his brother had to stop. And it had to stop tonight.

* * *

_Military hospital in London… _

Peter let out a puff of breath and leaned forward again, peering down the hallway where the senior MP had gone five minutes ago to fetch the medic who would determine whether Peter was going back to school – or going to jail.

"Stop that," Quentin finally exclaimed, drawing a chuckle from the younger MP sitting on the other side of Peter, lounging back in his chair since there wasn't much of a threat of Peter running away on him. "If you keep fidgeting like that, I'm going to tie you to that chair, Pevensie."

Growling, Peter sat back and started to twist his crutch in circles.

A hand shot out and stopped it mid-twist.

"I mean it."

With a small smile, Peter relinquished his hold on the crutch and Quentin pulled it over to his other side and out of the blonde boy's reach. Peter resisted the urge to lean forward and look again.

The entire 40 minute ride in the MP jeep had been full of Peter bouncing his good leg, biting his lips, sighing and looking warily between the two MPs in the front seats. Now, he was running out of nervous movements to make.

"Corporal?"

Peter's head shot up and took in a short, older man who standing directly in front of him. How he had gotten there, the young man couldn't fathom, since he hadn't heard or noticed him.

"Sir?"

The man gestured for Peter to come with him and didn't argue when Quentin, after handing Peter his crutch, followed them down the corridor. The hospital was bustling with activity and Peter tried not to look at the men missing various limbs, wincing as they worked to regain balance and function in society.

Before going far, they turned left into an exam room and the doctor shut the door behind Peter, Quentin and the older MP. The younger had taken up a position outside the door.

"All right, take this and leave only your shorts on," the doctor said, pointing to the exam table in the far corner. Peter moved over to the table and eyed the light sheet he was holding, then eyed his clothes and then eyed Quentin. Seeing the look, the doctor waved Quentin over to Peter and turned away again.

The MP stood nearby, but not too close to intrude.

Undoing the button and the zipper of his trousers, Peter sighed and then pushed them roughly downward, feeling the scrape on his left leg and nothing at all on his right. Quentin helped him to get out of them and then helped him hoist himself up on the table and handed him the sheet.

Aside from hairy legs, no blemishes adorning Peter's skin could be seen.

The MP eyed the young man critically. "Don't look like an injured leg to me," he muttered, purposely loud enough for Peter to hear.

Glaring was his first instinct, but Peter only shook his head and unbuttoned his blazer, then his white button-up shirt and pulled both off in one go. That left him in his white undershirt and his under shorts.

The doctor was now in front of him, waiting expectantly and Peter took the time to let out one more sigh before the storm.

Grasping the bottom edge of his T-shirt, he pulled it up and over his head. He heard the gasps of surprise and hesitated before pulling the shirt completely off, his face hidden from view as the others acclimated to what they were seeing.

Okay, so it looked like he'd been in a war. He _had..._but not all the scars they were seeing had come from fighting _this_ war. Lucy's cordial healed the injuries, but they still scarred and Peter sported more than one.

Looking through his fringe, he eyed the doctor – who in turn was eying the long incision on his mid-section. The MP, undoubtedly of stalwart character, actually looked a little sick and chancing a look at Quentin, Peter saw his best friend had his hands to his mouth and was chalk white.

Regaining control of himself, the doctor set about poking and prodding and cataloguing the battle history on Peter's body. After noting a number of things on his chart, he looked up into Peter's face.

"It appears you received this long wound here, and this shoulder wound, most recently, am I correct?" the doctor said, pointing to the wounds as he mentioned them. Upon Peter's nod, he moved behind the young man. "There is no exit wound, so I assume the torso wound is so large because of this?"

Again, Peter nodded.

The doctor reached out and touched the puncture scar near the base of Peter's spine, where he had been struck by the mace in Narnia. "What caused this? It doesn't look like an exit wound from a bullet, but something definitely punctured you here."

Peter resisted the urge to sigh. "I was hit by flying shrapnel, sir. It didn't go deep and I was able to pull it out myself and bandage it up."

The doctor came back around front. "And you say you have no feeling in your right leg? None at all?"

Peter nodded once more.

"Elaborate, corporal," the doctor said, gesturing with his hand.

Sighing, Peter glanced to Quentin first, then back at the doctor. "I was told by the doctor who treated me that there was a lot of swelling around my spine," he said. "And over the three months I was in the hospital, there was enough nerve damage done to cause me to lose feeling in my right leg." He frowned. "Initially it was both, but I regained it in the left."

Nodding, the doctor pulled a sharp instrument from a nearby table.

"Lay back," he said, helping Peter to do so.

He started at Peter's mid-right side and poked the instrument at intervals, noting Peter's uncomfortable winces. They stopped as soon as he reached the young man's right thigh. With a frown, the doctor pushed a little harder, nearly enough to draw blood.

Still no reaction.

"Close your eyes," he told Peter. When the boy hesitated, he turned to Quentin. "Your friend will be here to make sure I don't do anything inappropriate or damaging."

With a small nod, Peter did as he was told.

The doctor grasped his right foot and torqued it. Normally, someone would tell him to stop when it began to get uncomfortable. Unless they had no feeling in the leg. And Peter said nothing.

"You can open them again."

Helping Peter sit up, the man had him hang his legs over the side of the exam table and then proceeded to lightly knock his left leg just below the knee. The leg twitched in response.

He repeated the action on the right.

Nothing.

Standing up straight, he made a note in his chart and then turned his attention to the MP.

"Staff Sergeant Giles," he said. "This young man is indeed paralyzed in one leg. There is weakness in his torso from extensive trauma. He is not fit for duty and it is my recommendation that he be discharged."

To Peter, he said, "I can't imagine what it must have been like traveling for months from Greece to Britain so soon after receiving such injuries," he said. "I would like to apologize for the entire British Army for putting you through this." With a look to the MP, he added, "You are free to go, Mr. Pevensie. Your discharge paperwork should arrive at your school within 10 days."

Peter nodded mutely, shaking a little in the chilly room. "Thank you, sir," he said. "May I get dressed now?"

The man smiled. "Yes, go right ahead, young man."

Quentin jumped forward and helped his trembling friend, unable to tear his eyes away from the many scars that Peter's body held. Apparently he wasn't the only one.

"What happened to you that caused so many scars, Mr. Pevensie?" the MP said haltingly. The doctor stopped short and turned to hear the answer too.

Peter groaned inwardly. He'd been hoping they wouldn't ask about that. He sported the scar from his run-in with the Ettinsmoor giants, the ones from the most recent duel with Miraz and minor ones from fights during the Golden Age.

"When I was a child, I was involved in an auto accident," he said quietly. "An out-of-control car hit me when I was crossing the street. There was a lot of damage. But I recovered well. I've only got scars and vague memories from that."

He was aware of Quentin's eyes narrowing, but was glad the other boy didn't comment on it. His best friend knew there had been no such accident in his past. Peter was sure he would have to talk to Quentin later – and knew his friend well enough to know the other young man would not let _this_ go.

* * *

_Outside the hospital… _

"Well _this _is wonderful," Quentin muttered, standing dejectedly next to Peter, who was sitting on a bench nearby. "First you nearly get arrested, then you get poked and prodded and I learn you have a zillion scars I knew _nothing_ about, and _now_ we have to fend for ourselves to get back to school and we _have no money_."

Peter groaned. "I know this, Quen," he said. "And I'm sorry you got dragged into this. I'll think of something. I promise."

The other boy stooped down in front of his friend and shook him lightly. "Peter Pevensie. You. Are. Not. To. Blame," he said slowly, enunciating each word. "And I wouldn't have let you go alone if they paid me to, so it isn't as if you _dragged_ me anywhere."

"You _can't be_."

Peter and Quentin looked up in surprise.

An army captain was standing a few feet away from them, his eyes riveted on Peter. "I _know_ you," he continued. "But, you're supposed to be dead. Killed in action. I told your family myself."

Scrunching his face up, Peter gazed more closely at the man.

Something was familiar about him. It took Peter several moments to place the man's face, but after a moment he had it.

"You were one of the messengers who brought word of my father's death," Peter whispered. Quentin stiffened beside him, looking between Peter and the captain. "It was a mistake, my being dead. Someone must have just assumed, since I was shot and never showed up at a hospital."

The captain moved closer.

"What was the name? Pevens? Parsey?"

"Pevensie," Peter said with a smile. "Peter. Formerly Corporal, but just now officially discharged from the army." He extended his hand to the man, who took it with a smile and introduced himself as Captain William Banks.

Looking between them, he noticed their uniforms. "School blazers? Where do you attend?"

The boys explained the day's events and finished with their current dilemma. Peter shook his head. "My brother will flip if I'm not back by supper," he said. "He was really upset when they took me away."

Nodding, Captain Banks gestured to a parked army-issued jeep nearby. "I'll give you two a ride back," he said. "I'm free for the night and I'm headed out Arkley way, anyhow. It wouldn't be any trouble at all."

Both boys smiled broadly and nodded in agreement.

Grabbing his crutch, Peter levered himself up with a grimace and nearly ran into the captain who had failed to move when he saw what the younger man was doing. Eying the crutch and Peter's obviously unresponsive leg, he frowned and sighed.

"Sir?" Peter said, looking up at the man's face. "Is something wrong?"

Banks nodded. "Yes, Peter," he said, laying a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I just hate seeing young men, like yourself, who will have to live with a disability all their lives because of this war." He shook his head. "I'm just blathering on, though, let's get you two back to school where you belong."

Peter wasn't sure how he felt about _that_. On one hand, he _was_ a boy here, and one who had probably seen too many horrors for one his age. But he had been a man once. Had been a King. Had led troops in battle and slain many foes. He had sat at court and mediated between other rulers, and had also officiated over weddings.

It was odd to suddenly be told he belonged in school.

Captain Banks didn't know about Narnia, and so he was perfectly within his rights to believe as he did, but part of Peter was still the High King and that part of him bristled at the school boy side of him.

Clambering into the captain's jeep, he settled in for the 40 minute ride back to Arkley.

* * *

_Peter and Quentin's room… _

5:43 .

No Peter.

Edmund paced.

5:57 .

Still no Peter.

Edmund bounced on the balls of his feet.

6:01 .

"Where _are_ they!"

Edmund flung himself down on Peter's bed and hugged the pillow to his chest, breathing in the scent of Peter's shampoo. He had tried to study. Tried to read a book. Tried to take a nap. Tried to take a shower. Well, he'd succeeded at the shower, but it hadn't taken his mind off Peter.

The only thing he _had_ done besides that was write a letter to Susan and Lucy.

It wasn't fair to keep them in the dark about what had happened, even though he hated worrying them. The letter wasn't finished yet, because he still didn't know if Peter was in jail or not.

"Argh!" He flung the pillow against the wall and drew his legs in, huffing as he wrapped his arms around them. "Why couldn't I have gone with you, Peter? At least then I wouldn't have bitten my nails to the quick worrying."

He eyed said nails with disdain.

Then he eyed the clock again.

6:02 .

"Damn," he said, letting his head fall into his hands. "I'm going nuts here."

There was a chuckle from the door and Edmund's head snapped up.

"I'd say _going_ was way past, Ed, and you have arrived at _already_ nuts."

Leaning on his crutch, smiling lightly, was Peter. Right behind him trying to hide a grin, Quentin was bobbing up and down on his feet. "Are we going in, Pete?"

The other boy smacked backward trying to hit him, but missed. Rolling his eyes, he entered the room and moved over to where Edmund was still perched on his bed, blinking in surprise at _being_ surprised by their entrance.

"You're back!" He suddenly shouted, making Peter wince and rub his ear.

"Yes, and I'm now deaf."

Edmund flung his arms around Peter's shoulders and squeezed. "Okay, I never, ever want to repeat anything like this ever again," he said, his voice muffled by Peter's blazer. Realizing he was talking into his brother's shoulder, he picked up his head and looked into his eyes. "Is everything all right? You aren't going to be arrested? Or sent away?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I'm here to stay now, Edmund," he said quietly. "I should get the discharge papers in a little over a week. It's just Mr. Pevensie now, no more Corporal."

Releasing a great sigh, Edmund finally let his face break into a smile.

"I'm so glad, Peter," he said. "I was counting down the minutes waiting for you to get back." He paused, shifting his glance to Quentin before continuing. "I felt awful that we have been at odds still and I thought I might not have a chance to apologize for being so bloody over-protective."

"Language," Peter muttered automatically, then cringed when Edmund glared at him for it. "Sorry, habit," he said with a small grin. "Honestly, though, Edmund, I've been a bull-headed idiot myself and I should have accepted at least some of the help you were offering."

The dark-haired younger boy smiled. "Yes, it would have made things much easier for _both_ of us," he said. "But I think I have to start offering to help a little less and you might be more inclined to let me help when I offer. We both have to learn what is too much and what isn't."

Quentin, perhaps sensing the conversation was about to begin going in circles, leaned in close to Peter and Edmund and leveled an intense glare on his best friend. "You, Peter Pevensie, have _a lot_ of explaining to do," he said firmly. "You got hit by a _car_ as a child, did you?" He stood up and paced away. "Funny that," he continued, "I'm your _best mate_ and I've never heard of this horrific accident that left you with a body full of bloody scars!"

Peter winced as Quentin's voice rose in volume and hoped no one could hear them through the walls. "Calm _down_," he pleaded. "It's a _long_ story, Quen. I swear, I didn't keep it from you in the way you _think_ I did. Oh, it's complicated…"

Edmund frowned. He knew Quentin must be referring to the scars Peter had gotten in Narnia over the years of their reign, and probably the newer ones from their adventures with Prince Caspian and the Telmarines.

He met Peter's inquisitive look and could read in his eyes a desire to tell Quentin about Narnia. Neither boy was sure that it was allowed, but nor were they sure it _wasn't_ so Peter sighed and thought for a moment.

_Would he even believe me if I told him about Narnia? That we went to a magical land and were Kings and our sisters Queens and we fought alongside Centaurs and Fauns, against Giants and other Fell Creatures?_

"Quen, you wouldn't believe me if I told you how I got these," he said quietly, not meeting the other boy's eyes. "It really _is_ complicated."

Quentin was suddenly only a foot away. "Why don't you at least _try_, Peter?" he asked. "Aren't we best friends? Don't you tell me all the important, life-altering things in your life? Even if you don't tell me the _details_, you at least let me know something happened."

He gestured to Peter's torso. "I had no idea you had so many scars," he said. "No idea that something obviously serious had happened to you. Now I have to wonder what else you are hiding from me? Do I know you at all?"

Peter looked up at the hurt in Quentin's eyes and didn't know what to do. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke in a rush...while he still had the courage to do so.

"Would you believe me if I told you that my brother and sisters and I traveled to the country during the worst of the Blitz and while there, went through the back of a wardrobe into a magical land where we learned we were the prophesized saviors of a world and then proceeded to fight against a witch and her army before being crowned Kings and Queens and ruling for many years before returning here a year ago?"

He panted when it was all out.

Quentin looked at him angrily. "If you don't want to tell me, don't, but I don't appreciate you lying to me. And so flippantly." He turned, flung open the door, and angrily stomped out.

He didn't hear Peter whisper, "But it wasn't a lie…" or see Edmund hug his brother again to try and comfort him.

_A/N: Uh oh...(runs and hides)_


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: Well, the fencing club is here and hopefully to your liking! The aim was to make it as realistic as possible, not with Edmund coming in "foil blazing" and winning the day like an expert. That's just not believable! If you like, or don't, let me know!_

**Part Twenty-Eight: **

Quentin rounded the corner at the end of the dorm corridor and then abruptly halted, leaning against the wall behind him and running an angry hand through his hair. Growling deep in his throat, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

"_Why_ would Peter _do_ that?" he grumbled out loud. "Peter is not usually sarcastic like that when it's something so important. Why would he tell me something so barmy? He _knew_ I was serious and to just…argh!"

Lowering his hands, though he did ball them into fists at his side, he took deep calming breaths to try and release his frustration. As it diminished slowly, he frowned and thought back to the number of times he had thought his friend and his brother were a little – _different_.

The way Peter sat at meals, back ramrod straight, eating with a set of manners no 16-year-old school boy would use on a regular basis. He remembered both his and Edmund's ability to weave words against even adults, without breaking the slightest sweat or seeming in the least unnerved.

Still, he thought, _A magical land in the back of a wardrobe? Who did he think he was talking to, a five-year-old? Why on earth would I believe something like that? _He paused. _Unless it's true. But it just _can't _be true. I don't even believe in magic._

Sighing, he peered back around the corner he had rushed past and saw that no one was in the hallway and it looked like his and Peter's door was still open. Since Edmund hadn't passed by, he assumed both Pevensies were still in the room.

Brows furrowed, he moved back around the corner and edged quietly down the hall until he was standing beside the still ajar door where he could hear Peter and Edmund quietly speaking to one another.

"I want to tell him, Ed, but I just don't think he's going to _believe _me," Peter said, his voice full of sadness. The tone in his best mate's voice made Quentin frown deeper from where he was leaning beside the door.

There was a rustling of bed linens, then, "Peter, if he is truly your friend, he will hear you out," came Edmund's voice. "I know it's completely insane, what happened to us, but he wants the truth and you are going to give it to him. There's nothing more you can do but that."

Quentin heard Peter sigh. "I guess so," he said dejectedly. Quentin imagined he was fiddling with some part of his clothing, as was Peter's habit when he was upset. He had to hold in a small sigh and the urge to run in and apologize for not believing him.

"Peter?" came Edmund's voice again. "I'm really glad you're back and all right. All I could think when you were walking out that door was about you walking into the stone ruins to duel Miraz."

Quentin's eyes narrowed. _Duel? Miraz? What was that boy on about?_

He could hear more shifting and then Peter's voice. "Oh, Ed," the older boy said. "I'm sorry you were worried, but the Headmaster really _was_ right in sending Quentin with me. You would have been too…well…overprotective and probably rather sarcastic. The MPs might actually have done something about it. But…" there was a pregnant pause. "Why did you think about the duel?"

Edmund had obviously gotten up and was pacing, if the light footfalls were anything to go by. Quentin was actually leaning to the side to make sure he caught Edmund's response.

"When you entered the combat area, I was left standing on the outside and I knew there wasn't a _thing_ I could do to help you, Peter," he said. "When you were walking out of the dining hall, and there was this great big MP who looked even a bit like Miraz from the back, I just couldn't help but have that same feeling of helplessness."

Peter said something too quiet for Quentin to hear, but then increased the volume of his voice. "At least I was just going to get a medical check up, not about to fight a duel to the death, Ed," Peter said with an attempted chuckle.

It must not have worked because there was the sound of a smack and then Edmund's voice, "Peter Pevensie. This isn't funny. Yes, so you weren't about to duel a man twice your age after spending _days_ paralyzed from the injury in the raid. But you _were_ in danger of going to _prison_." He paused. "And in a way, that was worse. Because even _you_ wouldn't have been able to help yourself then. At least I knew there was a good chance you were the better fighter in the duel and could come out on top. There wouldn't have been anything you could have done against the Army."

Quentin heard another sigh from Peter.

"I'm sorry, Ed, I just wanted to lighten the mood," the older boy said. "What do you say we go get some dinner? I'm really rather hungry." There was more rustling and Quentin jumped back and looked around.

Moving to the next dorm room, he twisted the handle and sighed in relief as it moved and the door opened. Without hesitation, he moved into the room and pulled the door almost closed just before Edmund and Peter came out of the next room and proceeded down the hall.

"Um, Connors? This isn't your room, mate…"

Quentin spun around to find another boy from his class sitting at the desk in the room, staring at him with a half-disguised smile of amusement on his face. "I do believe you want the next one down," he prompted, gesturing with his hand.

Recovering, Quentin nodded vigorously. "Oh, yeah, sorry bout that…I'll just be….going." And he flung open the door, stepped out, and closed it behind him. Leaning against the wall between his room and the one he'd borrowed to hide, he sighed. "If Peter was lying, why in the world would they continue talking about a magical world even after I'm gone?"

Shaking his head, he let out a puff of breath. "I need some food. I must be going batty."

Pushing off the wall, he headed in the direction Peter and Edmund had gone, thoughts of a strange world in a wardrobe, and a duel to the death as he went.

* * *

_In the dining hall… _

Peter looked up toward the doorway again, shifting his potatoes around on his plate. Across from him, Edmund watched the food-moving with a frown on his face. He watched Peter for another minute or so, then reached out and stilled the hand.

"Eat it, Peter, don't play with it," he said with a small smile.

The blonde boy looked up at his brother, then down at his plate with a grimace. "Right, sorry," he said, still obviously distracted as he cast another look toward the door. Suddenly, he sat up straighter and Edmund craned his head around to see why.

In the doorway stood Quentin, scanning the crowd of students.

His eyes glossed over Peter and Edmund, definitely noticing them, before he moved in their general direction. Edmund could hear a shaky breath from Peter as his brother's best friend moved toward them.

And he could hear the dejected sigh when Quentin veered off a little and seated himself beside another group of his age-mates and waved to another incoming friend, Terry, to sit with him.

Terry did so, not without a look in Peter's direction. After a few whispered words, he looked up at Peter and Edmund again and shrugged lightly before sitting with Quentin and breaking off eye contact.

Edmund turned back to Peter, whose eyes were fastened on Quentin.

"Pete…" he began, but his brother cut him off.

"It's fine, Ed," he said firmly, a mask Edmund hadn't seen since Narnia settling on his face. Peter was going to hide behind some sort of duty and until they were in private, there wasn't anything Edmund could do about it. "We have to call Susan, Lucy and Mum tomorrow. We should perhaps think on what we wish to say."

Wincing at the formal tone to Peter's voice, Edmund nodded. "I suppose we should," he said slowly. "We're going to have to tell them both about the MPs and the mix-up about your records."

Peter nodded. "As much as I hate to worry any of them, that will be necessary, yes," he said, pausing to take a bite of his food in an eerily familiar way. Edmund wasn't exactly sure why Peter was channeling his "King Peter" manners so strongly, but he wasn't going to argue. It was better than the moping.

Taking a quick drink, Edmund frowned. "How much should we tell them? That they dragged you off in the middle of the school day? That they just came, discussed things and left? I sort of think we need to tell them the whole truth."

His brother looked quickly to the side, probably eying Quentin, before responding. "The whole truth on that matter. I'll explain it, if you don't mind, as I was actually there," he said. "We should also tell them things, aside from that, are going fine. No problems. We don't want it to be all bad news."

Edmund nodded, then suddenly straightened. "Peter!" he exclaimed with wide eyes. "Mum has _no idea_ about…" he proceeded, in a much lower voice. "Your leg…"

His brother's eyes widened too. "Oh, dear," Peter said quietly. He was silent for a few minutes, staring into nothing and obviously deep in thought. Finally, he looked up. "And she will continue to have no idea," he said.

Edmund immediately shook his head. "But you have to tell her, Peter," he said. "It wouldn't be right if you hide something like this from her. She's your mother, for goodness sakes."

But Peter was not going to budge. "I just think it's something I would like to tell her in person, Edmund," he said quietly, losing his King Peter façade for a moment as he thought about his mother's reaction. "I don't want her to come rushing to the school, which she _would_ do if I told her."

Contemplating for a moment, Edmund finally nodded. "All right, we'll keep that quiet," he said. "I just hope you're doing the right thing, Peter."

His brother didn't answer and Edmund, realizing the brothers were both done eating, grabbed his and Peter's plates and utensils and stood to bring them to the kitchen window where they were collected.

Turning around, he took a step forward, only to turn back around to grab the cups he hadn't taken off the table. As he spun back toward the kitchen, he heard Peter call out, "Ed, look out!" and he focused on the body nearly upon him, carrying a full tray of food.

A collision looked to be imminent, but years of sword-play had honed Edmund's dodge reflexes to a sharp point and he pivoted on his front foot, swinging his back one around and turning his body just enough to avoid being run into.

And he didn't drop a single thing while he did so.

Peter shook his head at his brother with a small smile, but didn't comment on the near accident. He had known Edmund had enough warning after his shout to get out of the way, but it was amusing to see the shock on the face of the boy who'd nearly bowled into him.

It had also caught the attention of another boy, but instead of amusement or shock, it had Quentin Connors thinking of sword fighters and moves they might have ingrained in their minds and bodies.

Quentin had been observing his friend and his brother, and he _had_ noted Peter's unusual eating habits come into play again as he went from dejected, push-his-food-around Peter to something entirely different.

It wasn't lost on the boy that Edmund was eating in a similar fashion.

He watched the interplay between the brothers, seeing something different about them from what he was seeing in everyone else in the room. It really showed when Edmund stood and was nearly flattened by a boy not paying attention to where he was walking.

Quentin was so sure that the dark-haired Pevensie was going to be knocked flat on the ground, but at a shout from Peter, the boy pivoted so fast and so sharply that Quentin couldn't believe he didn't topple over from the move.

But he hadn't dropped anything and didn't appear to be perturbed by what he had just done. He acted like it was second nature to be able to move so easily and with such confidence.

_Maybe it is,_ he thought to himself, now pushing food around on _his_ plate like Peter had been doing before. _But it doesn't mean they were…Kings or something. Maybe they just, I don't know, learned a few sword-fighting moves at that country estate they were sent to, right?_

But somehow, looking back at Edmund and Peter as they resumed their conversation – he wasn't too sure it was something so simple as that.

* * *

_Peter and Quentin's room, after lights out…_

Edmund was still sitting on the edge of Peter's bed, knowing any minute Quentin would be coming back in from the nearby bathroom. He was loathe to leave Peter after everything that had happened.

"Why can't I just stay here tonight?" he said, for the third time. "The Headmaster gave me permission to be out after hours."

Peter shook his head without turning. "That's not the same as giving you permission to sleep here, Edmund," he said. "And besides, it's not just_ my _room, it's also Quentin's and with the tension between us now, I don't think he would agree."

Edmund grumbled something unintelligible at that, but did stand up and move toward Peter. Waiting for his brother to stop fiddling with his nightshirt, he sighed. "All right, I'll go to my room. But if you need me, for anything, you come down, all right?"

His brother nodded and pulled him into a short hug. He knew Edmund was exhausted and still stressed over the day's events. If he thought about it, he still had his own worries that things with the military were far from over.

Like the recruitment office, it had just seemed too easy. He had been away from the military for 5 months and it had only taken a doctor saying he had a bum leg to solve it all?

As Edmund moved out into the hallway and gently shut the door, he looked at himself in the small mirror over his dresser and thought about all the things that just didn't add up and could come back to haunt him.

There had been no inquiry into who had treated him and why _they_ hadn't reported him alive. And being in a German hospital being treated by Germans could make things worse for him – they could think him a traitor, who helped the Germans win the battle.

Shuddering at _that_ thought, Peter ran a quick hand through his hair and then hopped to his bed. He'd noticed already that he was steadier, and was able to do a little maneuvering without the crutch. But only over short distances and if there was something to hold onto, like a bedpost.

Sitting on the bed now, he also wondered not if, but when, the Army would realize there was more to his story that they _didn't _know and come calling again. For the time being, it seemed he had a discharge. And he knew they couldn't make him fight again. But there was still the danger of prison, if things didn't go his way.

The increasingly dark thoughts might have gone on, but the door opened with a creak and Quentin walked in, effectively derailing Peter's train of thought and drawing his attention outward again. "Quentin?" he said quickly. "I'm sorry about earlier, I shouldn't have thrown all that at you so fast like that. I don't know what I was … thinking."

He slowed to a stop when he saw the look on his best friend's face. Quentin didn't appear happy with him. "Peter, just leave it alone," the other boy said wearily. "I get it, honestly, you just don't want to tell me. Fine. Just…don't make up any more tall tales."

Peter shook his head. "But it's _not_…"

"Peter!" Quentin said, perhaps a little harshly. "A wardrobe? A magical land? Forgive me if that seems like even _more_ than just a tall tale." He turned down the covers on his bed and climbed in, shifting so he could reach the light cord beside it. "Like I said, Peter, leave the fairy tales for English class."

With a dejected sigh, Peter laid down and reached for his own light cord. "Fine, Quentin," he said. "Don't believe me. Maybe someday you'll realize I have been telling the truth and maybe by then, I won't want to tell you the rest."

The light went out and the room fell into silence.

* * *

"No…let me go, Caspian!"

Peter tossed violently in his bed, as if trying to fend off this "Caspian" fellow and Quentin shifted onto his side, worry on his face, but also a healthy dose of interest that was stopping him from getting up. Who knows what he could learn if he listened for a bit? He'd wake Peter if it got really bad.

"I have to do something, please!"

Peter kept tossing about.

_Caspian had a grip on his arm and was tugging hard. With his sword and mace wounds he couldn't struggle hard enough to get the other young man to let his arm go. The Prince pulled and tugged on him, forcing him along toward the gates of the Telmarine castle._

_Around them, Narnians were dying at an alarming rate. And Peter felt like every eye that slowly faded in the glassy stare of the dead was locked on him as he was bodily dragged from the courtyard._

"_No … let me go, Caspian! I have to do something, please!"_

_But before he could do a thing about it, he was outside the gates and the minotaur so valiantly holding them up was falling under a hailstorm of enemy arrows. Not a place on his front was not riddled with arrows and he was dead before he landed._

_Peter finally pulled away from Caspian and clamped his hands on the gates. "No…" he whispered as he watched Narnians fall under more Telmarine arrows from the soldiers above._

_Just beyond the gates, nearly within Peter's reach, was Glenstorm's eldest son, Silius. The centaur was locking blades and felling attackers with astonishing speed, but even he couldn't keep up the pace forever and finally, a well-placed sword thrust pierced his chest and his forelegs buckled under him._

_Pained eyes met Peter's, but they quickly changed. Instead of showing the agony of a mortal wound, they shone with blame. With accusation. And with anger. Peter could see the words form on the centaur's blood-frothed lips. "Your … fault."_

_A scream built up in Peter's throat, but it was quashed down as he was yanked around by Caspian. "We must leave now before more die while they wait for their __**King**__, sire." There was thinly veiled disgust in the Prince's words._

_He thrust reins into Peter's shaking hands and then mounted his own horse and kicked it into motion, vaulting the widening gap of the closing bridge. Peter looked from the reins in his hand, to the bridge, to the dead eyes of Silius and finally to the accusing ones of the centaur's father, with Susan perched on his back, an accusing look on __**her**__ face too._

"_I should have died with them," he whispered._

Quentin flung the covers off and jumped out of the bed, his feet hitting the cold floor. "That's it," he said. "Bloody hell, Peter, what are you dreaming about? 'I should have died with them?' This is too much."

Reaching out, the boy shook Peter's shoulder and Peter mumbled in his sleep. "Silius," he whispered. "My fault…"

Frowning, Quentin shook harder. "Peter, wake up!"

The blonde jerked and rolled onto his back, eyes trying to make out who was looming over his bed as his mind dallied in his dream. Recognition finally came to him and he let out a sigh.

"Quentin?" he said, rubbing his face. "It can't be time to wake up, yet."

The other boy shook his head. "No, but you were talking and thrashing in your sleep again," he said. "What in the world were you dreaming about? And what kind of name is Silius?"

Peter's eyes hardened. Now Quentin seemed to want to listen? No, it wasn't going to happen. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Quentin," he said. "Remember? Just go to sleep, it's late."

Rolling over so his back was to his best friend, Peter felt vaguely disappointed when Quentin didn't press, just sighed and went back to his bed. He hated this tension between them, but what was he supposed to say? _Yeah, Quentin, I was dreaming about a night raid that I planned that we lost miserably in the magical land you don't believe me about_, he thought with a grimace. That would have gone over well. _Thank goodness it didn't actually happen that way, though._

And he drifted off into sleep thanking Aslan that the raid hadn't gone quite as badly as his dream had made it – even though Silius had died and he would always carry a certain measure of guilt for that.

* * *

_The next morning, Saturday…_

Peter straightened his button-down white shirt and adjusted the cuffs with a small frown. When he noticed that this shirt had more wrinkles than he was wont to wear, he blew out an exasperated breath and pulled it back off again.

Spying another shirt hanging in the closet, he pulled that one out and held it up. "That's better," he said, mumbling as he pulled the new shirt on over his undershirt. As he buttoned it up, Edmund appeared in the doorway, glancing briefly at a silent Quentin who appeared to be trying to ignore his roommate.

"You ready to go, Peter?" the dark-haired boy said, watching Peter fasten the final buttons of his shirt. Quentin sidestepped him and left the room as Edmund entered, both careful not to touch at all as they did so.

Peter watched the interplay and then pulled the brush through his hair a bit more viciously than necessary. Edmund chuckled from behind him a few minutes later. "Peter?" he said. "This isn't Narnia. You aren't going to court or a state function. Leave the hair alone."

Realizing what he'd been doing, Peter smiled and looked at the brush in his hands. "But Edmund," he said. "Just because I don't have a crown on my head, doesn't mean I can go about looking like I just rolled out of bed."

The two shared a laugh, unaware of the eavesdropper at the door.

There it was again. A reference to crowns, kingdoms and this strange world and Quentin couldn't help but feel a little more curiosity. The Pevensie brothers injected these little comments seamlessly into their everyday actions and words – how could that be if they were making it up as they went to fool him? Sighing, he shook his head and moved off to use the public telephones and call home.

Peter and Edmund emerged a few moments later, heading in the same direction. Both were anxious about the two phone calls they were about to make. Peter hated that they were going to have to worry both their mother and their sisters, but he knew they had to tell them about the MPs.

As they entered the foyer where the public phones were, Peter groaned loudly and slowed to a halt. "Look at the lines," he said with a sigh. "We're going to be here all morning. And then we'll be telling Mum about all that's happened with a zillion other kids standing around us."

They waited a few minutes in line, inching forward as each caller hung up and left, handing the phone to the next boy. Then, a shadow fell over Edmund's shoulder and the boy turned to find Headmaster Clark directly behind him. "Um, Pete," he said with a small jab to his brother's side. "We have company."

Peter turned swiftly and saw the Headmaster. "Good morning, sir," he said with a dip of his head.

Smiling, the Headmaster looked around the room. "I thought you two might appreciate a little privacy when I saw you come in here. You have important things to tell your family," the man said. "And you don't need an audience."

Both boys nodded gratefully and allowed the man to lead them to his office. Peter, who had never had cause to be in the Headmaster's office, looked around with interest, his eyes honing in on the small wooden case on the wall holding a medal.

"You were in the Army, sir?" he asked suddenly, pointing to the case.

While Edmund dialed the number for the girls' school, the Headmaster nodded. "Yes, Peter, I was," he said. "I received that in the same fight I received this – " he held up his mangled hand for the boy to see and watched as Peter's eyes widened in surprise. "I expect you got one of these yourself, didn't you?"

The boy frowned. "I did, but it was when they thought I was dead. I expect they'll be wanting it back," he said.

Edmund bristled behind him as he waited for the girls to come on the line. "What? Why?" he said. "It isn't your fault they thought you were dead."

Peter turned slightly to look at his brother. "It's all right, Ed," he said. "I don't mind really. I know what I did and I don't need anything to show for it. If they want it back, they can take it."

Headmaster Clark quirked a small smile. "Not many would take that so lightly, Peter," he said. "It leads me to believe you probably do deserve it and it will be a shame if they do take it away, but I agree that they probably will."

Edmund would have liked to continue, but he heard a feminine voice on the other line. "Edmund? Peter? Are you there?"

He waved a hand to get Peter to come over and the Headmaster nodded and moved off into a side room off his office, probably his personal chambers, leaving the Pevensie boys complete privacy.

"Susan!" Edmund called into the phone, holding it away from his ear so Peter could hear too. "Is Lucy with you?"

"Yes," came the higher-pitched voice of their youngest sister. "It's so good to hear from you! How are things at school?"

Trust Lucy to jump right into it.

Peter spoke next. "Some things have happened we need to tell you about," he said, deciding to take a leaf out of Lucy's book and get to the point. They were limited on time anyway.

"I don't think I like the sound of that, Peter," Susan chimed in warily.

Edmund grumbled. "You shouldn't, it wasn't pleasant."

Peter smacked him. "Ed!" Shaking his head, he spoke back into the phone. "I'm not going to mince words. During lunch yesterday, I was nearly arrested by the Military Police for failing to report I wasn't dead and for desertion."

There were twin gasps on the other line and Edmund almost thought he heard their usually eloquent Gentle Queen curse roundly. He and Peter exchanged glances at that, before Peter continued.

"I told them about going to the recruitment office, but they said they had no record of any visit," he said. "We exchanged words and then they took me to an army hospital in London and a doctor verified I had no feeling in my leg and ordered a discharge."

Glancing at Edmund, he hurried on. "I don't know if my troubles with the military are over," he said, ignoring his brother's sharp jerk of surprise. "They probably have a lot of unanswered questions. But for the moment, I'm fine."

Edmund had his "we're talking later" look on his face, and Peter nodded lightly. Then, he frowned and bit his lip. "There's something else I want to tell all three of you," he said quietly. "Something that happened in Narnia."

Edmund was looking at him now, no longer listening into the phone.

"What, Peter?" Lucy said, her interest peaked.

With a sigh, Peter went on. "I knew _something_ was going to happen to me when we got back from Narnia, though I didn't know what, and I knew that it was going to happen to help prevent a worse fate," he said. Waiting until that was absorbed, he continued. "Aslan told me when he pulled me away the day of Caspian's coronation. I think he was referring to my leg and how it would help me avoid a worse fate – prison."

Edmund's eyes were narrowed and Peter knew wheels were churning in his head. "I think you're right," he said, more to himself than to the others. "If you had not had that bum leg, and been as healed as you were in Narnia, you would have been arrested, Peter!"

They heard a "praise Aslan" from Lucy on the phone and both boys nodded before realizing they couldn't be seen and threw in a "yeah" for good measure. For a moment, no one spoke, but then they delved into a run down of how school had been so far.

"Did you call Mum yet?" Susan asked. "I imagine if you did, she'll be on about Peter's leg for the entire conversation and we won't be able to get a word in edgewise."

"_**No**_!" Peter said loudly, startling both Edmund and his sisters. "We didn't talk to Mum yet, and we can't tell her!" He glanced at Edmund before continuing. "Mum would rush up here all worried and she could lose her job, because I doubt she'd let a little thing like her boss saying no stop her."

There came a calm voice from the phone. "All right, Peter, keep your crown on." She caught herself. "Er, I mean…" Susan faltered. "This is still so unreal. You know what I mean."

Peter nodded with a smile. "Yeah, sorry, I just don't want to worry her anymore. She's going to be upset enough about the Redcaps coming," he said.

Eying the clock, Edmund pushed closer. "I hate to cut this short but we have to go," he said. "We're using the Headmaster's office for a little privacy and we only have ten more minutes to talk to Mum."

The four siblings exchanged goodbyes and Susan and Lucy promised to write again soon before they disconnected and Edmund set about dialing their home phone number, where they knew their mother was likely to be sitting with the small phone in her sight.

"Hello? Peter? Edmund? Or Susan and Lucy?" came the voice of their mother. She had definitely been sitting there waiting for one of their calls.

Peter smiled fondly. "It's Edmund and I, Mum," he said, holding the phone himself this time with Edmund leaning close. "How are you? Not working too hard?"

She chuckled, greeting them both. "Nothing unusual, Peter," she continued. "But you don't want to hear about my job, I want to know how school is. Are you getting on well? Are you rooming with Quentin again this year?"

The boys exchanged glances at mention of Quentin, but decided not to comment. "School's fine, Mum," Peter said, "but there's something I need to tell you that happened yesterday. Are you sitting down?"

He could hear a wobble in her voice as she replied that she was. "Peter? Has something bad happened?"

Edmund chimed in, "No, Mum, just something bad that could have happened." He glanced at Peter, who appeared to be hedging, and decided to continue himself. "There was some sort of paperwork miscommunication and the Redcaps came to the school because they thought Peter had deserted."

Their mother gasped on the other side of the line. "Oh, Peter!" she exclaimed. "What happened?"

Peter swallowed thickly. "I told them about going to report in and filling out papers and all," he said. "In the end they took me to London for a check up and determined I wasn't fit for duty, so I would be discharged. I'm waiting on the papers now."

There was silence on the other end for a moment and Peter, unable to stand it, called into the phone, "Mum? Are you all right?"

Her voice quavered slightly as she spoke. "I…It's a lot to take in, Peter," she said quietly. "I'm just a little shocked. I thought you were through with the military and we could move on from all that. But…but at least they let you go. That's good."

He nodded, then rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, Mum. Try not to worry about it, I'm fine and Edmund and I are going to go to the new Fencing Club this afternoon. It should be a lot of fun." Using the High King in him, he managed to keep all traces of disappointment out of his voice when he mentioned fencing.

For the next few minutes, he and Edmund took turns telling her about their classes and then, when the ten minutes were up and the Headmaster returned to the room, Edmund got in the last word.

"We'll talk to you next weekend, Mum," he said. "And don't worry about Peter, I've got his back and I'll make sure he doesn't get into any trouble." He cringed with a small smile as Peter lightly smacked him and their mother chuckled.

"Take care of yourself, boys," she said. "I miss you and I love you."

"Love you too, Mum," they chimed together before hanging up the phone and turning to meet the Headmaster's gaze. Peter spoke up. "Thank you for letting us use your office, sir," he said. "I didn't want to have everyone listening in for that."

"Not a problem, Peter, Edmund," the man said. He followed them to the door and let them out. "Enjoy that fencing club. I expect it will be a big hit among the boys."

The two of them nodded, thanked him again and set off down the hallway.

* * *

_Later that morning, Edmund's room… _

Edmund was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants and was glaring at an unmoving Peter on his bed. "You _are_ going," he said, hands on his hips. "I'm not going to leave you to mope around while I go enjoy myself."

Peter shook his head, steadfastly hanging onto the bedpost with one arm. "But Edmund, all this will do is make me _wish _I could drop that crutch, grab a sword and join in," he said. "And you and I both know I can't do any such thing. I would just be taking up space and everyone would look at me like I'd grown another head for bothering to go."

But his brother wasn't about to back down. "Peter, don't tell me you've forgotten that time after Ettinsmoor when you could barely _move_ and you still managed to teach me that move I'd been stuck on for _weeks_?"

Peter's eyes lifted as he processed that.

"Oh, well…I think I might remember that…"

_Edmund sighed and shook his head. This sword technique was just not happening for him. It had been weeks since Oreius had shown it to him and Peter, and while his brother had picked it up in a few short days, Edmund was still struggling with it._

_It might partly be due to battle fatigue today, he admitted to himself. After all, he and Peter had just returned from the disastrous campaign in Ettinsmoor where he had nearly lost his brother in an ambush.  
__  
Peter was still very weak and hardly left his rooms at the Cair. On occasion, he came to watch the training sessions, but today he had been no where in sight. When the session was ended, Edmund had decided to stay behind and keep practicing this move and now he was about ready to throw in the towel and give up for the day._

"_You know, it might be easier to do that if you didn't start the strike so tensed up."_

_Edmund whirled around and saw the object of his thoughts leaning against the nearby fence to the training grounds. Peter had a few beads of sweat on his forehead, obviously from the walk down here, and Edmund wanted to berate him but instead, frowned and said, "What? I'm not tense."_

_Peter chuckled. "I can see it from here, Edmund," he said, taking a slow, inching step forward. "When you begin the strike, you're already so wound up to put your strength into it that you don't get it into the correct position to start with. So it won't work. You have to relax and then you'll feel it fall into place."_

_Edmund took stock of his last attempt at the technique and realized he _did_ seem to be off right from the start. Could Peter be right? Was he really so tensed up ready to go into the movement of the strike that he never got to the right starting position? He _did_ have a tendency to be impatient…_

"_All right," he said, "watch me do it again?"_

_Peter nodded and stood where he was, waiting._

_Edmund let out a breath and tried to consciously relax his main muscle groups. Shaking his limbs a little, he moved into the position to begin the strike and then prepared to start it, his arms unconsciously tensing._

"_Stop!"_

_Peter stepped forward when he knew he had Edmund's attention. "See," he said, pointing at Edmund's sword arm. "As soon as you tensed up, your arm moved up a bit. Relax it and see what happens."_

_Edmund did so and he felt his arm drop slightly. _

_Peter backed away. "Now try it."_

_And he did. And it worked and Edmund froze in the finishing position with wide eyes. "I did it!" he called out, breaking from his stance and thrusting a fist into the air happily. "To think, all this time, it was such a simple fix!"_

_Peter smiled. "Yeah," he said. "And to think, I never noticed it since I was usually fighting against you or doing the same technique at the same time as you."_

_Edmund grinned. "I'm going to do it again."_

_Peter laughed as Edmund executed the move over and over again until he could do it with relative ease._

"It _did_ feel good to help you get it," Peter said as he slowly released his hold on the bed post. "I suppose I could come along. I might be able to give some pointers to some people. And I should probably come support my little brother…"

Edmund smiled. "Oh yes," he said. "I sat through all those tournament bouts in Narnia, so you are going to sit through this. At least I'm not about to ride in a joust…imagine how you'd be feeling now…"

His brother laughed. "Imagine how _you'd_ be feeling!"

Together, they left the room and headed toward the gymnasium.

* * *

_Gymnasium… _

There were about 20 boys assembled in the gym when Peter and Edmund arrived and all of them looked up at the brothers as they breached the doorway. There were murmurs of "what's _he_ doing here" and "surely he's not going to try this like _that_", but Peter ignored them and took up a seat with his brother, laying his crutch under the bleachers where the students were waiting for the instructor to arrive.

Laid out on the gym floor were an array of fencing foils, jackets and gloves, and masks. There was an area marked off on the ground that looked like a long walkway, but that Peter and Edmund assumed was the "ring" for combatants.

Exchanging glances, they wondered how anyone could fight in such a straight line? They were used to dodging, spinning, pivoting around opponents, sometimes even rolling away from blows they couldn't block.

This looked – decidedly different.

"Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea," Edmund muttered.

Peter patted him on the shoulder. "You're the one who wanted to come, mate," he said with a lopsided grin. "We can still leave…"

But Edmund fiercely shook his head. "No, I want to learn this." He paused, seeing Peter deflate just a little, but glad that his brother shook it off relatively quickly. This was going to be hard for Peter, but Edmund knew his brother would not leave him alone.

All conversation ceased when a man with dark hair and eyes entered, dressed already in fencing jacket, but without any other gear on. He reminded the Pevensies strongly of General Glozelle.

"Welcome, boys, to the fencing club," he said, eyes wandering over those assembled and pausing briefly on Peter before continuing on. He honed in on two boys behind Peter and Edmund. "You two," he said, "might want to go back and change those clothes. Fencing in slacks and dress shirts isn't going to be pretty."

The two boys blushed and hurried off.

Turning his attention back to the remaining 18 students, he raised up his arm. "Show of hands, who has fenced before?"

No hands went up.

"All right then. Show of hands, who has picked up a sword of any kind before?"

One hand went up.

Edmund glared at Peter. "We have, sir," he said, turning to look at the instructor. "I've experience with two short swords and my brother here was very good with one long sword."

The man eyed the brothers more closely at that.

"Broadsword?" he said to Peter, who nodded but said nothing.

Appearing to contemplate for a moment, the man spoke to the rest of the group. "On your feet," he said. "I was ten laps around the gym and no walking. Ten good ones or I'll start you off again. I need you nice and warm."

There were moans and groans from the boys, even a small one from Edmund, but no one argued and soon 17 boys were running around the large gymnasium and Peter was left sitting in the stands.

"So…you have fought broadsword before?" the instructor rested a foot on the bleacher bench beside Peter, and looked down at the young man. "Were you any good?"

Hesitating, Peter sighed and looked up at the man. "You might say that," he said. "Before, this – " he patted his leg "my brother and I were evacuated to the country. The man we stayed with was proficient in sword-fighting and to pass the time, taught us quite a lot." He sighed. "My brother is a good swordsman, but neither of us have any experience with such a lightweight weapon. And we did a lot of circular motion, your markings lead me to believe fencing is linear."

Obviously impressed by Peter's words, the instructor looked out and found Edmund in the group of runners. "Perhaps I'll borrow your brother for my demonstration bout," he said. "Would he agree?"

Peter nodded. "He would. Edmund isn't one to back down from a challenge, and he is a keen student," he looked at the man again. "I don't want to be in your way, or a distraction, sir. If you need me to leave, let me know. A lot of the other kids have a tendency to, well, stare and talk. I'm a bit well-known here now."

Chuckling, the man shook his head. "I doubt I'll need to send you off, young man," he said. "What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Peter said, extending a hand. "Peter Pevensie. Of Finchley. Pleasure to meet you and I'm glad you starting this club. I think it's fantastic."

With a short nod, the man said, "I hope the boys are willing to learn. Fencing is not a game and I won't tolerate it being treated as such." Turning to Peter once more, he said, "I could use a good eye to help me during practice bouts." He reached down to a small bag beside the bleachers and pulled out a book. "Here, this will explain the scoring system to you, if you're interested."

Peter's eyes lit up a little and he nodded. "I would love to," he said, taking the book.

"That's settled then," the man said before extending his own hand. "Welcome to the club, Peter. Oh, and you can call me Mr. Hanson." That said, the man called out to the finishing runners and set them to the next warm up exercise.

Peter contented himself with reading up on what scored a point, what would lose points, and basics of fencing bouts.

"Now that we're all warmed up and protected," Mr. Hanson said, "it's time to choose a foil. I have here a few of each type of grip. There are Italian, French, Spanish and Pistol grips to pick from. Hold each kind to get a feel for it. Pick the most comfortable for you."

The boys, already wearing protective jackets, with a glove on their dominant hand, each began hefting various blades, some going so far as to actually swing them.

Edmund held each one, adjusting his hand as he went until settling on an Italian grip. It felt most like the swords he was used to, though with all the weight in the handle, he knew this was going to be a culture shock.

"Let's have everyone gather round over here," Mr. Hanson went on, gesturing to the taped off area. "And I'd like to ask Edmund to join me for a little light demonstration."

The boy in question halted abruptly and said, "Me?"

Mr. Hanson nodded. "No one _else_ has _any_ sort of experience, so yes, you," he said with a small smile. "Besides, your brother said you wouldn't mind." He watched as Edmund cast a withering glare on the blonde boy on the bleachers. Though the glare only elicited a smile from the older sibling.

Edmund turned back and nodded. "All right," stepping forward and gripping both the foil and the mask he had been given. "But I have no idea what I'm doing."

Choosing not to comment, the instructor walked Edmund through a basic show of respect, which he had no trouble emulating as it was similar to what he and Peter did hundreds and hundreds of times before their own bouts.

Then, the man indicated that Edmund put the mask on, which the boy did before letting his right leg slide back behind him, turning his chest off to the side and presenting his left shoulder to the man.

Mr. Hanson quickly shook his head. "No, Edmund. Standing like that only gives your opponent a free target." He stepped over to Edmund and gently repositioned him, guiding his left leg back, and his right arm forward. "Keep your right foot forward, it's the foot you're going to brace yourself on when you lunge. Your left shoulder goes back, since your left hand doesn't have a glove on it."

Edmund moved into the position, which was much different from his normal position. "Why not just put a glove on my other hand?" he asked.

"Fencing is a sport about balance, not acrobatics," Mr. Hanson explained. "You're not going to be switching your sword back and forth between your hands, and keeping your arm back, thus, helps you maintain your balance when you're on the attack."

Stepping back to his side of the line, Mr. Hanson positioned himself likewise.

"Fencing is not about swinging as hard as you can and clobbering your opponent," Mr. Hanson said. "It is precise. And very fast. Edmund, may I begin?"

The boy hesitated before nodding slowly, his voice muffled by the mask he was wearing. Mr. Hanson wasted no time and before any of them were really certain what happened, the man had moved forward and Edmund had attempted to move back, but between the awkward stance and his surprise at the teacher's speed, he wasn't fast enough and the foil hit his torso.

"Wow!" came cries from the assembled boys, along with a small wince from Peter. Edmund was going to kill him later.

There was another round of mumbling from Edmund, which sounded something like, "How in blazes do you _see_ anything out this ruddy mask?"

Mr. Hanson pulled his own mask off to comment. "It takes practice, but the mask is most important. A foil could easily remove your eye, and you don't want that, do you?"

Edmund shook his head, and the instructor put the mask back on.

"Again," Mr. Hanson said. "This time, don't just try to move back, try to deflect. I expect you'd be better at that than trying to get away from me."

Edmund shook his head, muttered, "That's what _you_ think," before raising his foil. This time, when the instructor lunged, Edmund deflected and then followed up with a strike of his own. He overdid it though, since he was used to a heavier blade, and he just barely managed to slide away before Mr. Hanson's blade tip hit him again.

"Very good!" the man said, drawing back. "You might not be as bad at this as you think, Edmund," he said. "Once more."

This time, Mr. Hanson didn't lunge and finally Edmund was forced to make the first move and he gave it a try. The lunge was a little awkward, since the foil was longer than his short swords, lighter, and he couldn't see a _blasted thing_.

Mr. Hanson easily stepped forward, twisting slightly to avoid the tip of Edmund's foil, and with a barely perceived motion scored another point on the boy's jacket. The two broke apart again and the instructor motioned for Ed to remove his mask.

"Now, I hope none of you honestly expected Edmund here to score on me," he said. "Even though I can tell he probably is quite proficient with a broadsword, fencing is another world. One which I have been involved with for 25 years."

He looked back toward Peter. "I'll expect all of you here next Saturday afternoon. Today was just a demonstration of what we are going to be learning. If you didn't like what you saw, leave your gear here. If you did, take it with you and I'll see you next week."

As the boys broke off and left the gym, none of them leaving their gear behind, Edmund returned to Peter's side where his brother was smirking. "What's so funny, Peter?" he said. "Enjoyed that, did you?"

His brother nodded. "Well, yes," he said. "And you didn't do badly, Ed," he added. "I've been skimming this book, fencing is _nothing_ like what we did. You've got your work cut out for you!"

Edmund growled at him. "I'll get you later. Somehow."

Mr. Hanson drew up behind him. "Better not get him too well, Edmund, he's going to be helping me as a judge during our practice bouts," the man said. "Isn't that right, Peter?"

The blonde smiled and nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. "I've got a lot of reading up to do, though." He turned to Edmund. "And I'm glad you made me come, Ed. Because I think I'll learn a lot just by watching. Even if I can't get up and do it."

His brother's glare softened. "Well, that's good," he said. "Maybe I'll let you off the hook for volunteering me to fight today."

Mr. Hanson broke in again. "I expect you'll do fine, Peter. You strike me as pretty observant, and since you are already versed in sword-play, I imagine you will have an easier time picking up on the strikes than any of the other boys."

Peter and Edmund nodded their thanks to Mr. Hanson and then left the gym.

They never saw the young man standing in the door to the locker room. The frown on Quentin's face was deep. Edmund had been notably more comfortable with a blade than the other boys. And he assumed if Edmund knew as much as he did, Peter likely did as well.

But why had he never heard of it before?

Unless…it was something they had learned in their magical world.

"It all comes back to that," he said quietly to himself. "I think it's about time Peter, Edmund and I had a talk. And this time, I'm not going to immediately discount what they tell me. There's been too many little signs."

He stopped speaking, but didn't stop thinking. _The little digs about crowns, and Kings and Queens. The impeccable manners and grooming, even the posture. There is something about the Pevensie brothers that screams _royalty.

And Quentin vowed to get to the bottom of it. He wasn't about to lose his best mate.

_A/N: In between chapter updates, we are still working through bringing our historical changes into the later chapters. We're not quite finished with that as there is a LOT of text to go through and pick out things that have to change. Like...150,000 words worth. So it might take a while for the changes in the beginning to get to the end. Thanks for reading!_


	29. Chapter 29

_A/N: Time for a nice long talk, folks. Sorry if this chapter is a little on the "eh" side. Necessary evil and all that. Enjoy, and don't forget to read and review._

Part Twenty-Nine:

Peter and Edmund's voices filtered through the door to Peter's room as they pushed it open and entered. "I can't believe Higgins was so surprised at dinner," Edmund said, shaking his head. "Did he honestly think no one would notice? I mean, come on, the kid tried to cut his own hair and shaved half the back off by accident!"

The blonde beside him was also shaking his head. "It did look wicked funny, Ed," he said. "But I'm glad we didn't stoop to everyone else's level and laugh at him. Remember how it felt to be laughed at in Narnia when we'd make mistakes during banquets? I'll bet that's how Higgins felt today."

Edmund nodded, sobering a little. "Oh, do I remember…"

Neither boy immediately perceived the boy move from the shadows beside his closet. It wasn't until the door slammed shut and the lock clicked the Peter and Edmund turned around.

Quentin stood, arms crossed in front of him and eyes narrowed.

"We have to talk," he said firmly.

* * *

_At Borehamwood Academy…_

With their two heads nearly touching, tucked away in a virtually unused corner on the second floor of the library where they kept the old maps, Susan and Lucy Pevensie both wore nearly identical frowns of concern.

"I just can't believe Peter was nearly arrested," Lucy said quietly. "Hasn't he been through enough? I wish we could go visit him and Edmund, whenever something horrible happens we face it as a family."

Susan nodded, lighting patting her sister's shoulder. "I know, Lu," she said. "I wish we could be with them, too. But Peter and Edmund are both strong-willed and as hard as it is, they can handle things without us."

Lucy sighed. "Oh, I know they can," the younger girl countered. "I just wish they didn't have to, you know? I wish we could take Mum to Narnia and not have to come back to England. Then Peter would be able to walk and we'd all be together."

For a moment, Susan didn't respond. Inwardly, she thought back to all the times she had pondered where the Pevensies belonged. In Narnia? Or in England? Part of her wanted to believe they belonged in Narnia, but the logical part of her kept saying they would have been born there if they were meant to be in Narnia.

She dared not voice it to her sister, but there was another reason she wasn't so sure she wanted to live forever in Narnia – when they eventually died there, would their father's spirit be able to join them in the afterlife? If he never set foot in Narnia, and if his body was buried somewhere in England, would they really be separated for eternity?

Susan couldn't stomach the thought.

"Su?"

Lucy gently shook her shoulder, drawing Susan from her thoughts. "Yeah, Lu?"

"We better get a move on if we want to make it to dinner, the hall is going to close down soon and I'm hungry," Lucy said. Pausing, she squinted at her sister's face and added, "Are you all right? You look…sad…"

Susan plastered a smile on her face and turned to Lucy. "I'm fine, Lu. I was just thinking about how Peter must have felt when those MPs accused him of being a deserter. He's given so much for England -- our whole family has – and that must have been a terrible blow."

Her sister nodded. "It must have been," the youngest Pevensie said. "I think I'll write him a letter. Remind him how magnificent I think he is…"

Susan pulled Lucy into a one-armed hug. "He'd love it, Lucy."

* * *

_Arkley Academy, Peter and Quentin's room…_

"Talk?" Peter said warily. "What do we have to talk about, Quentin?"

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances as Quentin stared at them as if he was trying to see through them – into them. It was a moment before the other boy spoke again. "I've been observing you two," he said. "And there are things about you that just don't strike me as normal. And do strike me as possible proof that your…story…is true."

Peter felt his heart leap but he quashed it down. This didn't necessarily mean that Quentin was going to believe him. It just meant that he suspected something was different about him and his brother.

"I'm listening," Peter said. "What is it that you propose?"

Quentin waved his hands suddenly. "Like that!" He exclaimed. "You… 'what is it that you propose', you say it like you're sitting in front of some ambassador or something! What teenager talks like that?"

Peter winced. He had been channeling courtly High King Peter recently in his attempts to deal with the tension between himself and his best mate and the aftermath of the MP scare. He hadn't expected Quentin to pick up on it, however.

"All right, so I speak formally from time to time, what is it you want, Quentin?" Peter said, beginning to lose a little of his patience. Edmund was silent beside him, but the blonde knew his brother was aware of Peter's mental state.

The dark-haired Pevensie stepped forward and chimed in, "And don't beat around the bush, Quentin. Tell us, in exact terms, what it is you want to talk about."

After a tense moment of silence, Quentin deflated and looked down. Taking a deep, steady breath, he looked up and met Peter's questioning gaze. "Tell me about Narnia," he said quietly.

"How do you know its name?" Peter said automatically, knowing he had never told Quentin the name of the land they had ruled and lived in for years.

Smiling slightly, his best friend shook his head. "You two don't exactly have the best of hearing, I suppose. I've heard you talking about it from time to time. I distinctly recall one instance where you, Peter, told Edmund to, what was it, 'keep your crown on'."

The brothers laughed lightly. "Yeah, we use that one a lot," Edmund said, gesturing for Quentin to sit as he and Peter moved off toward Peter's bed across from him. "You must be very quiet for us not to have heard you. We're usually pretty perceptive."

This time it was Quentin who chuckled. "I come from a long line of big game hunters," he said. "I learned early to sneak up on prey. And in this case, that prey was you two."

Peter chose to bring the topic back to the forefront.

"I'm not so sure I want to tell you about Narnia, Quentin," he said honestly. "What makes you ready to listen to me now when you weren't so recently? Why would you believe we traveled to another land through a wardrobe now, but couldn't when I first told you?"

With a sigh, Quentin ran a hand through his hair. "I'll admit, Peter, I'm not so sure I'm going to be able to believe you," he said. "But I am willing to listen and I'm willing to believe that there is something different about you. It's going to be up to you to prove it."

Edmund frowned. "Why should we prove anything to you?"

Peter was staring at Quentin, his eyes barely blinking. "You don't want to lose me as a best friend, and you doubt I want to lose you as a friend either, but you don't know if you can believe something so fantastic…" he said quietly.

Quentin's eyes snapped to his and he slowly nodded.

"You have to admit, Peter, it's rather bizarre," he said quietly. "If I came to you and said, 'Hey Pete, I traveled through a…a tree house into another world, fought off a crazy wizard and became a King', would you believe me?"

If he was honest with himself, before he had experienced Narnia, Peter wouldn't have. "No, I suppose I can't say I would have," he said out loud. "All right. We'll tell you about Narnia. Please reserve judgment until you have heard the entire narration."

Quentin rolled his eyes. "There you go, again, Peter," he said. "Mr. Formality."

Peter glared at him.

Edmund glared at him too.

"Sorry," Quentin mumbled, leaning against the wall behind him. "I'm all ears."

Taking a deep breath, Peter began. "It all started with a game of hide and seek," he said quietly. "Our little sister Lucy found an old wardrobe in a spare room of the country estate we'd been evacuated to and she aimed to hide inside. What she found, was far more than a hiding place.

"Lucy had found what we later learned was called Narnia. A magical land that had been cast into one hundred years of winter by an evil witch named Jadis, who fancied herself the rightful Queen of Narnia," he said.

"The first thing that Lucy found was a lamppost in the middle of the woods. At that lamppost, Lucy met a faun named Mr. Tumnus. Sort of a man with goat legs, if you will," he said with a frown, sure that if any Faun had been within earshot, he'd have gotten a sound tongue-lashing for that description. "Initially, he lulled her to sleep and planned to turn her over to the White Witch, Jadis, who had decreed that all humans be taken to her if they appeared in Narnia."

A slight shiver crept along his spin as he imagined the danger Lucy had unwittingly entered into that day in the country. "Mr. Tumnus had a change of heart and led Lucy away," he continued. "She went back through during the night, though."

He looked at Edmund, who frowned, but nodded and spoke.

"I followed her," he said. "I didn't find the faun. But I was found by someone else." He paused, looking to Peter for a moment. His brother's eyes held compassion, but nothing else but love. He smiled lightly and continued. "The White Witch found me, talked to me, and gave me food and drink. She said she would make me a King and that she wished to meet my family. I believed her. I had no real reason not to at the time."

Peter glossed over the family's arguments and instead skipped to where they all hid in the wardrobe and fell into Narnia together after the broken window incident. "We were most surprised when the next being we spoke to was a beaver," he said, remembering his silly attempts to attract the Talking Animal as he would a wild creature in England. "He took us to his home and told us of the prophecy that he believed had to refer us."

Quentin looked like he was trying hard to absorb it all and had yet to interrupt them. At the mention of a prophecy, he frowned, but still said nothing.

So Peter went on again. "The prophecy said, 'When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone, sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done'," Peter said. "At first, we refused to believe it could be _us_. I mean, we were just kids who'd stumbled into Narnia and knew nothing about it, or about being rulers."

There was a sudden flurry of movement from Quentin as he waved his hands. "Wait…wait…" he said. "Adam's flesh and Adam's bone? Who is this Adam? You father's name was Henry…"

Unable to help it, Edmund blurted out, "Adam as in _Adam and Eve_, Quentin," he laughed. "The prophecy referred to _humans_ sitting on the four thrones at Cair Paravel."

Quentin folded his arms across his chest with a half-frown, half-pout on his face.

Ed's laughter died down as the glare Peter sent at him hit home. "Sorry…" he mumbled before continuing the story himself.

Edmund told how he left his brother and sisters to seek out the witch then, and how he learned how grave a mistake he had made when she sent her wolf patrol out to kill Peter, Susan and Lucy.

"She threw me in her dungeon where I finally met Mr. Tumnus," he said, head down and voice full of remorse. "I'd put him there, you know," he said, looking up, but not focusing on Quentin or anything in the room. "I had told her about him meeting Lucy. I was the reason he was down there."

Peter gripped Edmund's arm and squeezed in reassurance.

Sighing, Edmund regained his composure. "She was most distressed when her wolves didn't find Peter and the others at the Beaver's dam," he said. "She…she used her wand and turned Mr. Tumnus to stone and then took me and set off to pursue them herself."

Peter kept his hand on Edmund's arm. The dark-haired boy found the warm weight comforting as Peter continued the narrative. "We had decided the only way to help Edmund was to seek out Aslan," Peter said, remembering how the name had inspired feelings of bravery and adventure in him when he first heard it. He noticed it seemed to have no impact on Quentin, however.

Sighing, he went on. "We met Father Christmas on the way, who gave Lucy a cordial that could heal any wounds and a small dagger. To Susan he gave a bow and arrows that would always find its mark if she believed in it and a horn that would bring aid to her wherever she was. To me, he gave the sword of the High King, Rhindon, and a shield emblazoned with Aslan's image.

"We continued on as winter began to thaw," he said. "When we reached a river we had to cross, we were nearly killed by Jadis' wolves. The river's ice jam actually saved us and swept away the wolves and nearly us. It wasn't long after that we arrived, finally, at Aslan's encampment."

He shook his head. "We told him we had come because we needed his

help to find our brother," he said, looking at the top of Edmund's head. "But while that's what we said, I think we all felt like we were there for a bigger reason. It's funny really, how suddenly I felt like I was meant to carry a sword. It was even stronger in his presence."

Edmund looked up at Peter at that. He'd felt nothing but mysterious horror the first time he'd heard the name Aslan. It was interesting to know what his brother had felt and he was glad it was a nicer experience for Peter.

"Aslan took me aside later and showed me the castle of Cair Paravel, which I could just see from the cliff above the camp. He told me that as the oldest of the four of us, it was my destiny to be High King," Peter continued. "He said that the Deep Magic that rules Narnia had chosen me, and he promised to do what he could to help Edmund, and in return all he asked was that I consider helping defeat the Witch."

Peter looked over at Quentin, gauging the other boy's appearance and deciding he didn't look completely shell shocked yet. "It wasn't too long after that that I made my first actual kill," he said. His friend's eyes widened at that, but still, he was silent. "The wolf captain, Maugrim, attacked Susan and Lucy and I killed him. I got my first title then. Sir Peter Wolfsbane, Knight of Narnia."

Edmund took up the story here.

"Aslan sent some of his troops to follow the other wolf and it led them to me at Jadis' encampment," he said. "They freed me and took me to Aslan." He realized something. "Oh, just so you know, Aslan is a great lion. Golden and very, very intimidating when you first meet him. He's the King above all kings in Narnia."

Quentin looked about ready to incredulously mouth the word "lion?" but managed to hold himself back and nod slightly in recognition. "Ok," he said quietly, not trusting himself to say anything else.

Peter smiled lightly at the beginning of the glassy-eyed, overwhelmed look in Quentin's eyes. "We were very happy to see Edmund and I thought it was time for my brother and sisters to go home," he said. "But they felt otherwise and overruled me. And I have to admit, I needed them. And so did Narnia."

Settling back further into his bed, he cleared his throat.

"We trained some, but before long our solace was interrupted by the witch again. This time, she had come to claim ownership of a traitor's blood," he said, his voice like a knife at the memory.

For a moment, he said nothing, giving Quentin time to voice what he was hedging on. "So, who was this traitor?"

Peter's eyes snapped up, flickering from Edmund to Quentin and back to his brother where they settled. "Well, it was Edmund," he said. "He had gone to her, intending to get one up on us. He had…he…"

Edmund huffed, "He's trying to say that I betrayed them," the younger boy said. "And I did betray them, and I regret it still, though I know that I am no longer that same boy who entered Narnia in my night robe."

Sighing, Peter turned to Quentin. "She intended to take Edmund and kill him on the Stone Table to appease the Deep Magic in Narnia. The blood of a traitor, it was written, belonged to her and if it was denied to her, Narnia would be no more. The other benefit to Edmund's death, for her at least, was that the prophecy wouldn't be fulfilled, because it called for four humans. If Ed had died, only Susan, Lucy, and I would be left, and alone we couldn't fulfill the prophecy."

Edmund frowned, remembering how his heart had been beating so fast that day he had feared it would beat right out of his chest and run screaming back to England.

"So what happened?" Quentin asked. "I mean, Ed's here and he's obviously alive and well, unless you're going to tell me he's a ghost."

"It's complicated," Peter said, "but basically, Aslan traded places with Edmund. We didn't know it until he had already gone and done it. Susan and Lucy had gone with him and they sent word that Aslan was dead."

Edmund watched as memories flitted across Peter's face. But his brother found the strength to go on and his voice didn't waver. "We suddenly found ourselves at the head of an army," he said. "They dressed us in full armor and gave me a mount. A beautiful white unicorn. I was to ride at the head of the army. Edmund was to stay with the reserves on the cliffs."

Peter felt Edmund stiffen at that comment and shot a glance at him to find his brother lost so deeply in thought that Peter refrained from going on until he had regained his attention.

"Edmund?"

Quentin frowned too when he saw that the dark-haired boy wasn't responding. "Is he all right?" he said quietly.

Peter shook his head in confusion. "Edmund?" He said, louder. The other boy jerked sharply and turned his gaze to Peter.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he said, shaking his head to clear it. "I just lost myself for a moment there. Please, go on, Peter, don't mind me."

Peter waited another moment before doing so, vowing to speak to Edmund later.

"We held them off as long as we could, but we were fighting a losing battle," he said. "Many were dying or being turned to stone by the witch's wand. I told Edmund to get out of there, find the girls and get them home. Of course, being Edmund, he didn't listen."

Edmund frowned. "Do I ever?" He said with a small smile, before taking up the story again. "I saw the witch heading straight for Peter and I had to do something about it. I knew her power was in her wand, so I ran and reached her and I was able to break the wand with my sword."

He paused and Peter's grip tightened almost painfully on his arm, knowing what came next. "She was far too skilled a warrior for me," he said sadly. "The last thing I remember before waking up later was her stabbing me with the broken piece of her wand and how much it hurt. I vaguely recall Peter's voice screaming my name."

Quentin was nearly as still as the statues of stone the witch left in her wake, trying to process a 10-year-old being stabbed by a broken wand on a field of battle, surrounding by death and dying.

He was having a hard time of it, but turned back to Peter when his best friend took up the story again, loosening his hold on Edmund's arm when his brother winced and pulled away.

"I charged her, naturally," Peter said. "I was so very angry and so scared for Edmund. We fought for a few minutes before there was an almighty roar from the cliffs and we both stopped fighting to look."

He remembered the feeling of intense relief that seeing Aslan had brought to him and the smile that had crossed his face when he saw the army that the lion had gathered during his absence.

"Roar?" Quentin asked. "But didn't you say that Aslan bloke … er … lion … was dead? Was it a different lion roaring?"

Peter shook his head. "No, it was Aslan," he said. "The witch didn't know the Deep Magic as well as he did, since _he_ was there when it was _written_. When he, an innocent, willingly gave his life in the stead of a traitor, the Deep Magic turned back even death itself and he had banked on that, I think."

Quentin looked a little more uncertain than ever at that, but nodded for Peter to continue, which the blonde did.

"Of course, the witch took advantage of my distraction at seeing an alive and well Aslan and attacked again," Peter said. "This time, she knocked me down and pinned my arm to the ground with a sword. It was no time before she had disarmed me and was about to kill me.

"Then, there was a flash of gold and she was gone."

Quentin had inched forward on the bed until he was perched on the end and he looked about ready to fall off. He was enthralled by the tale, not sure if he believed it or not, but unable to help the curiosity.

"Aslan had saved me," Peter said. "He killed her."

Melancholy entered his tone for a moment. "Susan and Lucy found me then and I was so happy to see them well. But…there was still

Edmund. And he wasn't well." Peter looked over at his brother, perhaps reassuring himself that he was fine now. "We found him and he … well, he wasn't doing well. Lucy gave him some of her cordial."

Peter felt a lump in his throat, but fiercely swallowed it down. "I thought I'd lost him," he said faintly. "Until he coughed. I think I came near to breaking his ribs when I hugged him, I was so relieved he was alive."

Edmund smiled lightly. "You were close, Peter," he said with a small smile. "We marched to Cair Paravel after the battle. We were crowned Queen Lucy the Valiant, King Edmund the Just, Queen Susan the Gentle and High King Peter the Magnificent. And for fifteen years, we ruled over Narnia as best we could."

"Until," Peter said, "the day we went off to hunt the white stag." He shook his head at the memory of Edmund's boasts before they left on the hunt. "We happened upon the very same lamppost that Lucy had encountered that first time in Narnia and it led us back through the wardrobe."

Edmund chuckled. "Boy were we shocked when we tumbled out into the

spare room and had de-aged!" He smiled at the look on Quentin's

face. "In Narnia, years had passed. But here in England, it was only minutes."

The brothers glossed over being called back to Narnia by Prince Caspian and returning to find it was 1,300 years later. They told how they failed miserably during the night raid, and how Peter's injuries had left him paralyzed again. How the witch had temporarily come back, only to be somewhat easily defeated by Edmund, and how they had finally decided to send Lucy in search of Aslan while Peter, if he regained feeling soon enough, would stall Miraz and the Telmarines with single combat.

"So that's the dual to the death I heard you guys talking about!" Quentin exclaimed. At the boys' nods, he shook his head. "What happened?"

Peter sighed. "I was healed in time, praise Aslan," he said. "We fought, and I was about to swing the killing blow, when a Telmarine on the sidelines fired off a crossbow shot that hit my shoulder. That's where I got the scar the doctor saw."

He saw Quentin wince in sympathy.

Edmund growled. "I should have known those Telmarines were going to try something, Caspian all but said so when he saw them talking amongst themselves and noticed how it had angered General Glozelle."

A quelling hand on his shoulder stopped the impending tirade. "It's done, Ed," he said. "Being angry about it now does no good. To make a long story short, Quentin, I won the duel, but gave Caspian leave to decide his uncle's fate. He let him live, but Miraz' own general did not and the battle was on.

"Lucy had indeed found Aslan and they sent the trees to help us. It turned the tide of battle and we drove them to the river, where a river spirit struck the final blow and the Telmarines surrendered."

Edmund nodded. "Caspian was later crowned King and we helped him

set up a Council of Advisors before we volunteered to return to England to prove that the gateway Aslan had created would do the Telmarines no harm."

Peter nudged his dead leg. "This took effect the minute we returned to England," he said sadly. "But I see now that it saved me from a worse fate of prison and for that I am thankful." After a slight pause, he added, "I believe if we return to Narnia it will be healed again, and I have to hold to that hope."

The room fell into thick silence now as Quentin processed – or at least tried to process – the story the two brothers had just woven for him. It was so fantastical, so completely insane, what was he to think?

Talking animals? Witches? Battles and armies and wands and Deep Magic? Peter and Edmund as Kings, and their sisters as Queens? English children as the rulers of a magical land in a wardrobe?

Could he believe this? Did he _want_ to believe it?

Looking up at Peter, he had his answer.

He had to believe it. For Peter. For their friendship.

Gulping, he stood and moved to Peter's side, sitting on the bed next to his best friend. "It's crazy, Peter," he said quietly, watching at Peter's head fell and his chin nearly hit his chest in sadness. Reaching out, he tapped it up again. "But I believe you. You're my best friend. And this is too much to have made up."

He smiled at the huge grin that broke out on his friend's face and backed away before Peter could crush him in a hug, "There is one condition!" he called out, hands up to ward off any contact until he had been heard. "You guys and your sisters have to let me write the book…"

Quentin barely dodged the pillow Edmund flung at him as the three dissolved into relieved laughter.

_A/N: Aw…they're all friends again…read and review!_


	30. Chapter 30

_A/N: Sorry folks, Phoenixqueen and I are still pecking away at revisions to earlier chapters every other day – and then yesterday I was just too darn tired to update. So this is a little longer to make up for it! Also put a banner on my Photobucket account for this story. To check it out, follow the directions at the bottom of my profile page on . Lemme know what you think if you do!_

**Part Thirty: **

Knowing Edmund as well as he did, Peter hoped he wasn't making a mistake when he sobered after Quentin's "book deal" quip and focused his attention on his brother. "Ed?" He said, "You seemed lost when I was talking about Beruna. What were you thinking about?"

Still recovering from their laughter, Edmund didn't answer right away. When he managed to calm his breathing, he turned to Peter with a small frown. "I was just remembering how…well…how frightening it was. Watching you. It still sort of haunts me, even after all these years."

Quentin chimed in, "Beruna was that first battle you guys fought in?"

At their nods, he slumped onto Peter's bed and flopped onto his stomach, propping his head up on his palms and focusing on Edmund. "Well, do tell," he said. "I've found the best way to deal with your demons is to let them out and beat them down. _Since_ you two seem quite good with beating things up, it might just work."

He frowned, then added, "Unless you'd rather just tell Peter? I could go find somewhere to hang out for a bit?"

But Edmund shook his head. "No, Quen, we told you about Narnia and we decided on no more secrets," he said quietly. "I suppose I could tell both of you."

Peter sat beside Quentin and tugged Edmund down so his brother was sitting tucked up against the headboard, Peter was in the middle leaning against the wall, and Quentin was taking up the rest of the best facing Edmund.

Seeing the two older boys were settled and appeared to have no intention of letting this go, Edmund sighed. "Most of the time, when I think of Beruna, I don't think about what happened to me, with the Witch," he said quietly. "That was awful, yeah, but not as awful as watching my brother lead an army for the first time ..."

_He had told Peter he believed he could do it. And Peter had straightened his back and gotten that look in his eyes – the one that made his younger siblings honestly feel like there was nothing Peter _couldn't_ do. _

_Now, Edmund wasn't so sure._

_Standing atop a high cliff, surrounded by Narnian archers and flanked on one side by Mr. Beaver, who he had reconciled with just recently, Edmund couldn't tear his eyes away from the one white spot in vast sea of browns below._

_Peter's armor glinted in the sunlight and his white unicorn stood out against the green grass and the rock outcropping that he and Oreius were perched on, looking out toward where the Witch's army was about to appear._

He looks so small_, Edmund thought to himself, momentarily surprised to be thinking Peter anything but larger than life. He had to be honest with himself, he had always hated how Peter was always so perfect before Narnia. Now, he half-wished he _still _thought of Peter as being high and mighty. Instead of so very small._

_It wasn't that Edmund didn't think his brother made a good leader. Or that he wouldn't make a great High King. He was just afraid. Afraid for Peter's life. His brother had only just picked up a sword for the first time a few days ago. Now he was going to ride into battle with it and a shield as the only thing that stood between him and death. Well, that and his usual dumb luck…_

"_Are you all right, sire?" Mr. Beaver said from below. "You looked upset…"_

_Edmund looked away from Peter for a moment to meet the Talking Animal's gaze. "I'm worried," he said quietly. "I…I look down there and I see my brother, not a warrior. My brother who usually wears goofy suspenders. Who likes to sit around and read books." He looked back out over the field of battle. "When we were training yesterday, I could tell he's going to be great with a sword. The operative words being _going to be, _Mr. Beaver."_

_He sighed. "I want to help him, but I'm all the way up here."_

_The Beaver said nothing immediately, obviously thinking on Edmund's words. Then he turned his attention to Edmund again. "I imagine he's thinking much the same about you," he said. "Worrying that you might fall in this fight."_

_Edmund nodded in agreement. "I'm sure he is. I could tell he was relieved when he could put me up here, as far from harm's way as possible," he said, perhaps a little miffed at that still._

_Mr. Beaver snorted. "Far from harm's way? I think not, sire," he said. "The battle will come to us, I have no doubt there. You'll be in the thick of it soon enough. Try not to dwell on it, distractions can be deadly."_

_Nodding, Edmund returned his focus to the field below and gasped._

_The Witch's army was _huge_._

Oh, Aslan, why!? _He thought.. _Why did you take my place? You would be better here than I could ever hope to be. You could protect Peter, and I can't. Why did you have to go and die for me?

_He saw Peter shift to look at him, looking for assurance or perhaps to make sure he was ready too, and it took a great deal of strength for Edmund to nod. For that second, he was glad he was so far up from his brother – this way Peter couldn't see the fear and doubt in his eyes._

_Edmund saw Peter raise his sword in preparation for their signal to send forth the gryphons. He saw the uneasy shifts of many of the Narnians behind Peter, probably wondering why he was _waiting_ so long, but he saw not a single waiver from his brother._

_Then, the signal, Peter's sword fell forward, and Edmund was copying the motion and gesturing with his own blade. Soon, gryphons carrying large rocks were soaring overhead toward the advancing troops. The first cries of the wounded and dying reached his ears and his eyes locked back on the white unicorn and the red tunic of his brother, still unmoving._

_Edmund felt the fear build in him as Peter turned to Oreius and said something. Whatever it was that Oreius replied appeared to settle something for Peter because he nodded and then seemed to straighten up on the unicorn's back as he raised his sword and the unicorn reared up on its hind legs._

_Even up on the cliff, Edmund could hear his brother's cry._

"_For Narnia … and for Aslan!"_

_And then the unicorn shot forward and Edmund's heart leapt into his throat as his brother led the charge across the battlefield -- him and the white unicorn forming the point of the arrow that was the Narnian army – heading straight for the heart of the Witch's advancing troops._

_Before he knew it, the white unicorn and Peter clashed with the enemy and he felt like he was going to break apart inside. His heart had bypassed his throat and was working on prying his teeth open so it could run off screaming in fear._

"_Please don't die, please don't die," he chanted under his breath, drawing another concerned gaze from Mr. Beaver, though the Talking Animal chose to say nothing more._

_Edmund could make out his brother because of his distinct mount, but that almost made it worse. Every time he saw the sword flash, he knew his brother had killed someone. What was Peter feeling? Was he scared? He must have been, since Edmund was petrified._

_The young boy saw the Witch suddenly signal the advance of her second wave of troops, and that was _his_ signal to release the Phoenix. A centaur standing beside him did so on his command and Edmund watched as the bird burst forth from the flames and soared toward the battle raging below._

_The Witch releasing her own foul flying creatures was not lost on him and he watched gravely as one of them bore down on the Phoenix. He somehow managed to prevent himself from shifting restlessly as the two creatures drew closer and closer._

_A flash of white below drew his attention._

_Peter had sheathed his sword and was galloping across the field, ignoring all foes around him. He appeared to be riding toward nothing, but then Edmund saw him snatch an abandoned spear from the ground and raise it, riding directly toward the flight path of the Witch's flying creature._

_With a strong throw, Peter released the spear and Edmund watched it soar straight into the creature trying to reach the Phoenix._

_Peter had released his sword from the sheath and was already swinging it with striking precision by the time Edmund looked back down at him with a smile. _

_Maybe his brother _was _good at this battling evil creatures gig?_

_Heart a little lighter, he watched the Phoenix create a wall of fire and heard the Narnians around him and below cheer. It was short-lived as the Witch's wand burst through the fire like it was nothing._

_Edmund saw Peter falter just briefly before calling the retreat._

_Now, Edmund would get to help him. They would draw them to these very rocks. Knowing Peter was coming closer, and knowing he would be there at his back, Edmund's fear flew nearly as fast as the Phoenix had. _

_Things would be all right._

Both Peter and Quentin were silent as Edmund stopped speaking. The younger Pevensie could tell that some of what he had said surprised Peter. They _had_ talked about it, but this was the first time he had spoken with such detail about his feelings that day.

"I…Ed," Peter started, but shook his head and trailed off. It wasn't often that he was at a loss for words. This was shaping up to be one of those times.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Edmund said. "But…I was twelve. You were my big brother. And you and I both knew going into it that neither of us were sword fighters. Hell, you had never ridden a horse before and suddenly there you were, riding a unicorn at the head of an army." He sighed. "Until you reached the rocks, my heart resided entirely in my mouth. I was afraid I'd never get it back down!"

Quentin was silent, waiting to see what the brothers would do.

Peter composed himself, with difficulty. "I guess I knew you must have been worried," he said. "I just, don't know that there is anything I can do to help you get past thinking about it every time someone mentions Beruna. I still think about you and the Witch, no matter how long or how many talks I have about it."

They lapsed into silence.

Quentin sighed. "Guys," he said. "I think this might be one of those things that you just never forget. It was life-changing, heck I can see that just hearing about it. So, it'll make you pause from time to time. As long as you don't dwell on it, it can't hurt you."

Peter smiled. "I think Quentin's right. We're just going to have memories we _don't_ get over," he said. "This might be one of them. Just like I'll always think of the Witch…the…you know…" he trailed off and Edmund gripped his shoulder. He knew.

Sensing things needed to be lightened, Quentin jumped up, jostling the bed and drawing curious stares from Peter and Edmund. "What?" He said, raising his arms in the air. "I'm excited. I love a good story and I'm sure you two are loaded with them! No more dull nights!"

The boys chuckled and nodded. "If it's good stories you want, you've reconciled with the right friends, Quentin," Peter said with a laugh. He smiled at his friend. "I'm really glad we talked. I hated hiding Narnia from you. It's such a huge part of who we are now."

Realizing the time, the boys all clambered to find the various parts of their uniforms and with a quick blazer switch between Peter and Quentin when they put on the wrong ones, the three hurried out to get dinner before the hall closed.

* * *

_Dining hall…_

"Didn't we have potatoes last night? And the night before? And did I mention the night _before that_?" Quentin sighed and let a blob of tasteless mashed potatoes plop back onto his plate with a squelch.

Peter shook his head. "What manners, Quen," he said. "Playing with your food…goodness." He ducked his head when Quentin smacked his left shoulder. "Hey, no beating on the guy with the crutch!"

From across the table, Edmund chuckled. "Sure, Peter, use that as a handicap," he said. Then he frowned, "Well, I suppose it _is_ technically a handicap, isn't it? Eish, I'll need to think up a new taunt when you pull that one."

He watched as Peter piled the empty plates on the three trays and pushed himself off the edge of the bench until he was standing at the table's head with a small smile. "I'll show you handicap, Ed," he said, reaching down and picking up the trays and plates in his left hand.

Turning around, he moved off toward the kitchen window where students were depositing their dirty dishes. He'd done this a few times before, but never with three trays and three sets of dishes. It was a lot heavier for his one free hand.

Maybe it was a sixth sense he'd developed as a swordfighter, but Peter knew before they reached him that someone meant to trip him and sure enough, a foot shot out in front of his crutch, intending to take it out from under him.

Instead, Peter stopped short and the person whose foot had come out stumbled in surprise. The stopping nearly dislodged Peter's hold on the trays, but after a brief wobble he readjusted his grip and glared into the face of Rupert Halliwell.

Recovering from the failed trip, and seeing Peter's wobbling hold on the trays, the other boy smirked. "Clumsy, Pevensie? Maybe you should leave the dishes to your servant boy, Edmund."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I've got it, Halliwell," he said, swinging his crutch around the boy's outstretched foot and putting it down past him, intending to keep moving toward the kitchen window.

No such luck. A hand shot out and grabbed his blazer and Peter nearly dropped the trays again as he lurched to a sudden stop. His right arm ached as he awkwardly put more weight than normal on it when his balance shifted to the right and his leg couldn't take any of it.

"Hey, did I say I was done talking, Pevensie? No, I didn't."

Peter's glare could have melted even the most stalwart warrior and Halliwell was no where near that stature. He shrank back uncertainly at the fire in the blonde's eyes.

"Back off, Halliwell," he said quietly, but with deadly precision. "I've enough to deal with without a bored bully trying to trip me. Get a life and stop wasting your time picking on people for the sake of making yourself appear stronger. It just makes you seem all the weaker."

With a swift move, he leaned onto his left leg, balancing, and swept Halliwell off his feet with the bottom of his crutch. Feigning surprise, he looked up. "Oh, sorry, clumsy moment," he said.

There were laughs from the nearby students who had been watching the interaction with interest. Peter saw Halliwell's face turn purple with embarrassment and rage.

He ignored him and moved toward the kitchen again just as Edmund and Quentin materialized at his side, his brother glaring at the boy on the floor waving off his sidekicks Martin and Hank and drawing himself to his feet.

Halliwell's eyes burned into Peter's back, but he refused to turn back toward him. The boy wasn't worth his time. Or his ire. It was annoying, but Peter wouldn't let it anger him. There would always be immature people in the world, and it looked like Rupert Halliwell was going to be one of them for a very long time.

"Are you all right, Peter?" Edmund questioned, taking the trays and pushing them across the window to the waiting staff woman. "We didn't see Halliwell until you were knocking him down. He didn't do anything, did he?"

Peter shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle, Edmund," he said nonchalantly. "I think he would have liked to have tripped me, but he was obviously unsuccessful."

Edmund laughed. "Obviously, as he was the one on the ground…"

Quentin patted Peter on the back. "You better watch it, Pete," he said with a smile. "The school might start thinking that crutch is a weapon and might try and take it away. Imagine having to _crawl _to classes." He leaned in closer. "Do Kings crawl?"

Peter swatted him and laughed. "Very funny."

* * *

Since it was Friday, the boys went back to their room but had no intention of doing any form of studying. After all, besides fencing club, they had the whole weekend to worry about schoolwork.

Quentin was practically bouncing in his shoes when he shut the door to his and Peter's room with a sharp bang. "Okay!" he said, rounding on his friends. "I've heard the battles and the mayhem. Now, let's hear about the pretty princesses and the high life. It can't have _all_ been battles, right?"

Edmund and Peter exchanged glances at the other boy's enthusiasm. "Well, no, it wasn't," Peter said. "Matter of fact, as we got further into our reign, and defeated most of the remnants of the Witch's followers, we had quite a few … suitors show up at Cair Paravel."

Quentin's eyes widened. "Suitors? As in, looking to _marry_ you?"

At Peter's nod, he shook his head. "But you were only fifteen! And Edmund there was only, what, twelve? Why in blazes would you have suitors at those ages!?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "That's what _I _always wondered at first," he said. "But think about it, we were Kings and Queens. And naturally, other kingdoms that fell under Narnia's rule wanted to secure good relations with us. To them, that meant marrying into our kingdom." He trailed off when he saw the glint in his brother's eyes. His own widened in realization. "No, Pete. Just…no."

"What?" Quentin said. "No brother-to-brother telepathy or anything here. No what?"

"I've a proposition," Peter said loftily. "Quen, we'll each tell you a story of the other's _worst_ suitor. You be the judge on which story is better. Whoever tells the better story, gets to … um … well, we'll think of the reward later."

Edmund buried his face in his hands. "Oh, no," he said. "I just _know_ what story you're going to tell Peter! That's positively beastly of you, you know?"

His brother laughed. "Are you backing out, Ed?"

A glare was his answer.

"Peter's worst suitor probably occurred when he was seventeen. We had been Kings for just over a year, and there was one suitor that would have made the biggest harlot in all of Britain look like an innocent angel," Edmund said instead. "Her name was Lady Samalta and she was a _nightmare_."

Beside him, Peter paled and suddenly didn't look like he was thrilled with his grand scheme to embarrass Edmund. This story, depending on how his brother told it, might have him blushing for a week…

_The delegation from Galma arrived in the morning – and by the afternoon, Peter wished he could call in sick to his High King duties just to avoid the disaster that was Lady Samalta._

_Flinging himself, fully-clothed, onto his bed, he covered his eyes with his arm. "Ed!" he cried. "I can't take it! She hit on me _five_ times in _five _minutes! That's some gushing 'marry-me' comment every _minute_."_

_From the doorway, Edmund laughed. "She's persistent, Peter," he said with a chuckle. "But admit it, she is gorgeous. You could do much worse."_

"_I would rather be courted by the ugliest woman in Galma if she let me breathe between her confessions of love," he groaned. "The woman knew nothing more than my _name_ and she was already professing her devotion to me!"_

_Sitting up, he straightened his back and launched into his best rendition of Lady Samalta._

"_Oh, High King Peter," he gushed in a nasal voice. "You have the most beautiful eyes. I could just look at them all day, for the rest of my life. Oh, High King Peter, you're such a stalwart warrior. I've heard tales of your greatness and I know if we were married we could built a strong alliance between Narnia and Galma."_

_He huffed, pulling his voice back to normal. "Ed," he said with a shake of his head. "She is a _nightmare_, pure and simple." Standing in front of his brother, he took hold of his shoulders. "What do I do? Come on, you always have my back in battle. This is killing me, you have to help!"_

_Edmund's eyes were wide. "You really are bothered by her, aren't you?" he said with a small frown. "They're just words, Peter. Words never bothered you before. What's different now?" _

_When Peter averted his eyes and turned away, Edmund knew it was more than just overzealous confessions of love that was getting to Peter. His brother didn't appear ready to be forthcoming, so Edmund trooped after him to the balcony._

"_Pete?"_

_With a sigh, his 17-year-old brother turned back to him. "It's not just her words, Ed," he said. "Whenever she could today, she would brush up against me or turn words _just_ right so that I was alone giving her a tour of something. She wouldn't back down."_

_Edmund frowned. "Did you _tell _her to?"_

_Peter scrunched his face. "No…"_

_Throwing his hands up in the air, Edmund glared at Peter. "As _she_ so often pointed out, you're the High King, Peter," he said. "You have every right to tell her to stop her advances, you aren't interested! Besides, I'm your brother and I say you're too young to get married. Unless Narnia was going to _fall_ or something and everything depended on it, there's nothing pushing you to do anything right now."_

_Peter leaned on the balcony. "I don't want to hurt her feelings, Ed."_

_With a scowl, Edmund shook his head. "Something tells me with guts like she seems to have, you wouldn't be the first to turn her down."_

_Peter looked sideways at his little brother and shook his head too. "Edmund, when did you grow old and cynical?" He jumped away as Edmund launched a smacking attack on his arm. "What? I'm serious!"_

_But he wasn't really and soon the brothers erupted into laughter and were chasing each other around the room. _

"Well if you were so childish in each other's presence, it's a good thing you _didn't_ get married, Peter," Quentin laughed. Then he blanched. "You didn't, right? Get married?"

Peter laughed and shook his head. "No, I took Ed's advice and told her my feelings," he said. "Now, the story I have about Edmund was when…" he jerked as Edmund smacked him in the back of the head. "Hey!"

"I'm not finished," the younger boy said with a huge grin on his face. "Nice try, Peter."

He continued the tale as Peter ruefully rubbed his head and grumbled about "mean little brothers."

_Edmund watched Lady Samalta's face turn from a coy grin into a positively feral scowl as Peter drew them to a halt in the gardens below. _Uh-oh, _the young King thought to himself as the woman stepped back and clutched her chest. _Wonder what she's saying to him?

_Peter frantically tried to console the woman, but she turned and stormed off, muttering furiously to herself. Edmund ducked back out of sight as she came beneath the balcony and could make out her words._

"_I'll show him he's wrong," she seethed. "I'll show him what he's missing."_

_Edmund frowned. Was that a threat? Was she going to hurt Peter? _

"_She wouldn't dare," he said, shaking his head. "He's the High King. That would be just stupid. No… I'll bet she's planning some sort of overly romantic gesture to try and win him. This is going to be _so_ much fun to watch!" _

_Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he poked his head back over the edge of the balcony just as Peter drew beneath it. "Oy, Peter!" he called out. His brother backtracked and craned his head. "Didn't go so well?"_

_Peter pinched his nose. "No," he said. "She wasn't pleased with my rejection. She told me I'd see reason soon and she _might_ accept an apology then. Nightmare, Edmund, nightmare."_

_His brother laughed. "Poor King Peter…a beautiful woman loves you and you can only think of it as a nightmare," he taunted. "Whatever will we do with you?"_

_Peter didn't answer. He just scowled at his brother and continued walking._

"It wasn't until the next morning that we learned what her _romantic gesture_ had been," Edmund said, eying Peter's rapidly reddening face with a grin. "It wasn't flowers or a picnic like I half expected it to be."

_Face flustered and nightclothes clutched tightly around him, High King Peter toppled out his door and onto the ground of the corridor outside his room, drawing the stares of the nearby faun guards._

"_Sire? Are you well?" one of them asked, stepping closer. "Do you and the lady need assistance?"_

_Peter mouthed the word "lady", but shook his head at the faun. "N…no. Fine. Just fine. Carry on," he drew himself to his feet and gulped, peering back into his room to find Lady Samalta, now covered by his blankets, glaring at him from his bed. _His_ bed._

"_That's not the reaction I was expecting, King Peter," she said somewhat snidely. "Few tumble out of the room when they see my beauty." She hiked the blanket up further. "You would actually be the first. Do you not find me attractive? Would I not make a good wife?"_

_Peter, coming only so far into his room as to be _in _the room and not the hallway, sighed shakily. "You are a beautiful woman, my Lady," he said, appeasing her obvious overly large sense of vanity. "And you would make an excellent wife." He gestured to his washroom. "But for someone else. Now would you please … compose … yourself and let me get some sleep?"_

_Huffing, the woman dropped the blanket and Peter spun around with a blush. He could hear her stomping to his washroom and the angry grunts as she tugged on something. _

_As she brushed past him, he saw the pale blue dressing gown and let out a little sigh of relief. Clothing was a blessing._

_Just outside the doorway, she turned and put her hands on her hips. "Well, King Peter," she said. "If you cannot appreciate true beauty when it is all but given to you, I cannot in good faith marry you. I am sorry."_

_Peter was left gaping in her wake._

Quentin was laughing his head off on the floor, too breathless to even speak right away. When he did, it was still halting. "She…turned…turned it…oh Peter!"

Peter grumbled. "Yeah, she made it seem like _I_ had been courting her and she was turning me down," he said with a small smile at the memory. "Just another example of that legendary vanity. And it _did_ become legendary. The woman never married while we were in Narnia, and she was of a very noble family."

Edmund laughed. "She was just unbearable!"

The brothers dissolved into laughter too when Quentin didn't seem able to stop and for a few moments, no one spoke and all of them attempted to catch their breath. When they managed to stop laughing, one of them would invariably snort and start again.

Finally, Peter held up his hands. "We…wait…we have one more story," he said, looking at Edmund who was holding his stomach from all the laughing. I still have to tell you about Ed's worst suitor."

The younger Pevensie paled. "Oh, Peter, I _so_ hope you aren't thinking what you probably _are_ thinking," he muttered, glancing up at his brother and then shaking his head with a groan. "You are. I know it!"

Peter smiled sweetly at him and turned to Quentin to begin the tale. "This incident happened just after Ed had turned fifteen. We had been ruling for three years."

_The Just King blushed as he accepted another token of an admirer's appreciation. This time, a beautiful bouquet of cherry blossoms gathered together in a small crystal vase._

_Peter was practically biting his own hand trying not to laugh as the servant girl bowed and backed away from the younger King with a small smile on her face. Edmund held the flowers as if they were about to bite him._

"_Stop laughing, Peter," he growled._

_His brother burst out laughing instead. "First candies. Then a love poem. Now a bouquet of flowers," he gasped. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say these were tokens meant for Susan!"_

_Edmund glared at his brother, still holding the blossoms, and put his other hand on his hip. "It's a very … manly … bouquet," he said with bravado. "Not at all frivolous with lace and sprigs of bright colors in an extravagant vase like Susan receives _all_ the time."_

_Peter nearly fell off his throne. "Ed," he gasped, even more hard pressed to speak than before. "They're…__**pink**__!"_

_The younger King frowned at the bouquet in his hand and sighed. The blossoms _were_ pink. He didn't answer as Susan and Lucy chose that moment to enter the throne room and both of them saw him holding the bouquet out toward Peter, who was sitting in front of him._

_Edmund saw the look in his older sister's eyes and followed her gaze. "It's…it's not," he groaned. "It's not what it looks like, Su."_

_She laughed. "It's all right, Ed," she said. "You can give Peter flowers if you want to, even though it _is_ something you'd give a girl."_

_Edmund smacked his forehead and walked away, muttering the whole while about a crazy suitor who must think he was a girl or something. "Though, _Edmund_ is not a girl's name!"_

Peter paused as Edmund grumbled from the bed, still not picking his head up. "In order to understand the rest of the story, let me tell you a little about a very unique Narnian species."

Quentin's eyes widened as Peter spoke.

"No way." he said, shaking his head at Peter finished the explanation. "Oh, Peter, keep going. What happened next?"

Edmund poked his head up. "Can't I just forfeit?" he whined. But Peter quickly shook his head and the younger boy sighed. "All right." He planted his face back into the mattress and shook his head.

_After the candies, poem, flowers, and now the basket of nuts, Edmund was dying to find out who this suitor was so he could tell them he wasn't interested already. Sitting on his throne after an exhausting round of negotiations with a particularly stubborn posse of dwarves, Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose._

"_I'm fifteen and I'm dealing with suitors," he groaned. "Not just normal girls, but ones who hide their identity from me and make me wonder." He looked up and nearly groaned again. A messenger._

"_Your Majesty," the Badger said, bowing low. "I carry a message to you from one who calls themselves – " he glanced at the missive – "Cherry Blossom."_

_That peeked his interest. "Give it here, good Badger," he said, holding out his hand as he stood and met the Talking Animal halfway. This could very well be the day he would be rid of these girly gifts once and for all._

_Opening the folded paper, he read:_

Dearest King Edmund,  
The love of my life and my bow of strength,  
I hope you enjoyed my gifts to you. I should  
very much like to meet you in person. I'd be  
most delighted if you stopped by the  
east garden today at noon .  
-- Cherry Blossom

_It was almost noon now!_

_Tucking the letter into his tunic pocket, Edmund turned around and nearly bowled over his brother. Peter was smiling. "So your admirer is finally revealing herself," he said with a chuckle. "In the east garden? This I should very much like to see."_

_Edmund growled at his brother, but said nothing, marching off toward the east garden with Peter following behind. It was pointless to argue with him, it was a free castle and Peter could go where he liked. Even the east garden._

_As he stomped down the corridors and around bends, he thought on how he would let this poor girl down gently. Rounding the final turn and seeing the open archway into the garden, he slowed to a sedate walk and plastered a neutral expression on his face._

_He could hear Peter slowing down behind him and wanted to grumble, but chose to try and ignore his brother instead. Moving out into the bright sunlight of the day, he squinted and looked around, trying to make out this elusive "Cherry Blossom" person._

_Soon he was frowning._

_All he saw was a Dryad._

_There was no girl in the gardens._

_Wait._

_He heard barely restrained laughter behind him. What did Peter know that he didn't? Frowning deeper, he looked around again and still spotted no one. But the Dryad was coming closer, he could ask her._

"_Good Dryad," he said as she reached him. "Have you seen a lady? One who might be waiting for someone?"_

_There was a flutter of pink leaves as the Dryad laughed. "I have, King Edmund," she said, her voice a tinkling sound not unlike a young girl. "A young maiden who has been waiting weeks to meet you."_

_Edmund looked at the Dryad expectantly. "Where is she?"_

_If a Dryad could frown, Edmund imagined this one was doing it. "Right in front of you, sire," she said, somewhat miffed. "Did you not receive the tokens? The cherry candies, the cherry blossoms, the poem, the nuts from the tree beside my cherry tree?" She fluttered again. "Did you not understand the name?"_

_Edmund very nearly matched the Dryad's leaves, so pink with astonishment he turned. "I…I…you…'Cherry Blossom'?"_

_Another flutter and a chuckle. "Yes, my King," the tree spirit said, rearranging her leaves so it appeared she was curtsying. "I am glad to meet you in person, King Edmund, for I have long hoped to lay my gaze on you."_

_Stepping back in shock, Edmund gulped. "I…you…well I, pleased to meet you too," he stuttered. His mind was moving a mile a minute. _A Dryad. In love with me? Courting me? A Dryad. As in, a tree spirit that takes the form of a human but is really just…well…leaves? How, what, why?

"_G…good Dryad," he said slowly. "You cannot fancy me."_

_There was a violent rustle of leaves. "Whatever do you mean, my King?," Cherry Blossom said with confusion. "I know what I feel and I love you. You are wonderful. You are so kind and true and brave. You are my King."_

_Perhaps Peter took pity on his brother, or perhaps he couldn't hear from where he was standing, but the High King soon drew abreast of the two with a broad smile. "Edmund, there you are, dear brother," he said, nodding to the Dryad. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"_

_The Dryad ruffled but said nothing._

_Edmund swallowed. "I was just telling Cherry Blossom here," he paused at the name to see Peter's reaction. There was only a marginal raising of the eyebrows. "I was telling her that she cannot fancy me. We are so different…"_

_The eyebrows went the rest of the way up. "Were you?" He turned to the Dryad. "My good Dryad," he said with a smile. "My brother is a most worthy young man. But he is right, I do not think you fancy him. What about my brother excites you?"_

_She repeated the things she had said to Edmund._

_The younger King sighed lightly and gently spoke. "Cherry Blossom. I _think_ you might _think_ you like me, but really you like the _idea_ of me. I am all those things, but I am also a Human and I am very different from you. I just don't think it would work between us."_

_The tinkling voice was obviously distressed. "But, I…I don't understand."_

_Edmund's eyes begged Peter to _do_ something._

_The High King bit his lip. "King Edmund will be required to sire heirs, dear spirit," he said quietly. "That is something the two of you could not produce. Do not waste your days pining for him when you are perhaps in love with what he _represents_, not he himself. There are many Dryads who would drop all their leaves to be with one as beautiful as yourself."_

_Peter imagined if Dryad's could blush, Cherry Blossom might be. Her voice was lighter as she said, "I…I guess you are right. I do not know King Edmund, but I admire him and his ways," she said slowly. "But…is there no chance?"_

_Edmund shook his head lightly. "We could perhaps be friends, Cherry Blossom, but nothing more."_

_With another ruffle, she assented and drifted away leaving Peter and Edmund standing together in the garden. "I feel bad," Edmund said. "She meant well. She just…well…we wouldn't have worked!"_

_Peter patted him on the shoulder. "No, you wouldn't have," he said matter-of-factly. "Imagine trying to hug? Or…or…goodness, actually don't imagine, it boggles the mind. She will be fine, Ed. Come on. I cannot wait to tell Susan and Lucy who your admirer has been all these weeks."_

Quentin was stone silent.

Not moving.

_Staring_ at Edmund. The dark-haired boy peeked his head up, wondering why there was no laughter. He soon found out, as Quentin had waited until he was looking before breaking down into hysterical laughter, tears streaming down his face.

"Leaves…leaves…I can't," he shook his head. "You…babies…not…"

Peter chuckled at Edmund's shaking head and watched Quentin wipe tears from his eyes. "It _is_ rather difficult to describe, isn't it Quen?" he said. "Cherry Blossom went on to marry a very sturdy Oak tree Dryad named Owan. They were quite happy together. Edmund performed their ceremony."

Quentin burst out laughing again. "I just can't imagine!" he said, shaking his head and still staring at a sheepish Edmund. "You're cute, but _interspecies_ cute? What in the world did she see in you? You're…not…just…I'm dead, Peter. You killed me with that story."

The blonde perked up at that. "Does that mean I win?"

Quentin nodded. "Hands down, mate. Sorry, Edmund, but, leaves…you have to agree."

Edmund smiled lightly and then laughed too. "Yeah, I suppose that was definitely one of the worst suitors any of us dealt with in Narnia," he said. "Not that she was a _bad_ sort, it was just a _really bad _match!"

Turning to Quentin fully, he said, "So, what do I have to do since I lost, Quen?"

The other boy thought for a moment and then smiled wickedly. "Clean our room for the rest of the week," he said happily. "We'll make sure to keep it nice and messy so you don't run out of things to clean up!"

Edmund groaned and Peter laughed and agreed.

* * *

Over the next few days, things were looking up for Peter.

He was moving around better, doing well in his classes, and the mid-term holiday was approaching so he would be able to see Susan, Lucy and their mother soon.

But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down – and sayings only went down in history if there was some merit to them. Peter's day had started out well, but it was about to come crashing down.

Hefting the book bag on his left shoulder, Peter set off for the secluded willow tree on the very edge of the school grounds. When Edmund and Quentin were in classes, he would come out here to work quietly or read a book.

The blonde boy reached the tree without incident, but his brows furrowed when three boys came out from behind it – identical malicious grins on their faces.

Rupert Halliwell and his cronies Hank and Martin.

"Pevensie," Halliwell said with a smile as Hank flanked Peter on the left and Martin on the right. "You're such a goody-boy, why don't we see if we can upset that balance, shall we?" He nodded to Hank, who reached forward and yanked Peter's book bag off his shoulder before the older boy could react.

It was transferred to Rupert's hands and the boy, smiling sweetly, upended it – scattering the neatly done homework, books, pens and pencils across the ground at their feet. If the wind picked up anymore, the work would blow away so with a deep scowl, Peter pulled his crutch out from under his arm and bent to the ground.

His left leg trembled with the effort of holding his weight and his right leg was awkwardly folded under him. If it had feeling, he imagined the position it was in might hurt.

Snatching papers first since books wouldn't blow off, he said nothing to the boys still standing over him, laughing at his unsteady progress. He moved to grab his last assignment, Latin that had taken him a few hours to complete, but jerked his hand back when a foot came crashing down on top of it, caked with mud.

Looking up, Peter glared at Rupert Halliwell.

"Nice to see you groveling for a change," the boy said, then leaned closer. "But I saw what happened with those Redcaps. Did you grovel for them, pleading with them not to put you in jail for deserting the army? Begged, did you?"

Anger rushed through Peter at the other boy's words. He wanted nothing more than to leap to his feet, brandish a sword and scare the wits out of Rupert Halliwell. But he wouldn't be doing any leaping, and he had no sword in England.

But he did have one thing. Memories. Of being High King Peter the Magnificent. There was no reason he couldn't emulate his kingly manners here – he needed no sword, nor two good legs.

Tightly grasping the crutch in his right hand, he used it to haul himself up. Older and taller than Rupert, Hank and Martin, he used his full height to his advantage and stared down at them, focusing mostly on the ring-leader.

In a low, dangerous voice, he said, "You have no idea what I went through, and I honestly hope you never will. War is no game. I know that better than anyone in this school save the Headmaster…" _And Edmund. _But he couldn't say that to them. "Desertion is the worst kind of cowardice and I don't take it kindly when you accuse me of it, Halliwell. The Army has seen fit to believe me, surely you don't think a 16-year-old could pull one over on the British Army? If you do, you're more naïve than I thought you were."

He moved closer to Rupert, cocking his head to the side when the other boy leaned back, but didn't step back. Looking down pointedly, he returned his gaze to Rupert's. "That's my Latin homework you're standing on, and unless you wish to get acquainted with _this_ ground, I suggest you move off of it."

Grudgingly, the other boy did so. Peter stooped down and picked it up, frowning at the mud obliterating half the work. As he was straightening up, Halliwell opened his mouth again and really put his foot in it.

"Like I said to your brother, you're probably faking that bum leg just to get out of going back to fight. Or to get off from those desertion charges. You're probably as big a coward as your brother."

Peter balled his hands into fists, the one clutching his crutch so tightly he was momentarily afraid he might crack it. Eyes blazing, he still did not snap, but his voice took on a deadly calm instead of just a dangerous one.

"When **you** go to war, and fight in a battle against superior numbers, and get shot and left bleeding to death on a rainy battlefield, **then** you may come to me and have some inkling of credence to your words," he said. "Until such a day comes, you know **nothing** of what you speak, and would do well to shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

Hank and Martin shifted beside Rupert. "Mate, let's just go," Hank said warily, Peter's seething anger not lost on the stocky boy. "This ain't worth it. He's got too many fancy words and could go on for days."

Rupert glared at him. "Are you saying he can talk circles around me, Hank?"

The other boy frowned and shook his head quickly. "No, Rupe, but his brother and Connors are coming. I don't fancy getting detention, mate."

Seeing Edmund and Quentin running towards them, Rupert glared up at Peter again. "This isn't over, Pevensie. You might have a way with words, but with that leg, you're no match for our fists. Watch yourself."

The three boys stalked off just as Edmund and Quentin arrived, breathless.

"Peter?" Edmund panted. "What happened?"

The blonde turned his still murderous gaze on his brother. "Nothing," he barked, looking down at the ruined work still in his left hand. "I have it sorted. Let's just get to work. I have to redo this, the teacher will never take it with all the mud."

Quentin was scooping up Peter's strewn books and supplies silently, and Peter's gaze softened a little as he saw the hurt in Edmund's eyes. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Edmund shook his head and turned away.

Frowning, Peter followed him. "I'm sorry, Ed," he said quietly. "They really hit home that time."

The younger boy turned back. "What did they say, Peter? You were positively seething when we got here."

Peter sighed and related the conversation. Edmund looked ready to leap up and chase the three boys down for a sound beating, but Peter shook his head. "We'll leave it alone," he said. "They're just words. They hurt when he said them, but I've been through worse. I'll be fine."

Quentin shook his head. "Mate, those three tend to fulfill their promises of future beatings," he said. "You really _are_ going to have to watch yourself. We'll be watching too, of course."

Edmund was frowning. He had thought the danger for Peter was over when the MPs had let him go, when they had thwarted the Telmarines in Narnia. It appeared the Pevensies simply got no break from bodily danger.

He vowed to keep as close an eye on Peter as he could without stifling his brother.

_A/N: Pretty, pretty please review?? I might be persuaded to make more pretty pictures if you do…_


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N: This is just writing itself, I tell you. I planned to make this the last chapter, but I just had too much to make it only one chapter so it's been split into two. This chapter and another after it. Part of this just decided it had to be done. I hope you like it!_

**Part Thirty-one: **

_Gymnasium…_

Peter forlornly leaned his head on his palm and his elbow on his right leg – frowning at the odd sensation of _knowing_ his arm was leaning on his leg but not _feeling_ it in the leg. Some things about his bum leg still seemed unusual to him, but after a month he _was_ getting used to it.

In the center of the large gym, Edmund and the rest of the fencing club had just ended warm-ups and were stepping through a few simple techniques on their own.

Peter's hand itched to pick up a foil and join them.

"All right, enough single practice!" Mr. Hanson suddenly called out. "Let's pair up and we'll try a few simple attacks and deflections. Just blade-work, we'll move onto footwork and lunges later in the lesson."

Edmund and his roommate Percival, whom he had taken to calling Perce, eyed each other and then moved to stand together. Peter did a quick count of heads and was momentarily disappointed to see there was an even number. He had half hoped they would need another body and he could get up and _do_ something.

Sighing, he blew hair off his forehead and settled lower on the bench, wishing again that he had two working legs. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the calculating gaze of the fencing instructor, nor his sudden advance toward the bleachers.

"Peter?"

Looking up with a start, Peter found Mr. Hanson standing in front of him holding two foils. "Sir?"

With a smile, the man lightly twirled one of the foils. "These are simple exercises and since there are an odd number of people here, I could use someone to work with when I demonstrate."

Frowning, Peter looked past the man at the waiting students. "But there is an _even_ number of students," he said, shaking his head in confusion.

Mr. Hanson leaned down. "But with me, that's an odd number of people. Now, come on. Get off that backside of yours and help me." He held out the foil in his left hand and waited, one eyebrow cocked in challenge.

Letting a small smile onto his face, Peter nodded and dragged his crutch out from under the bench beneath him. Standing, he took the blade from the man and held it in his left hand as he made his way to the group with Mr. Hanson.

Most of the students were eying the crippled boy with confusion, but no one muttered anything. Edmund had a broad grin plastered on his face and was immensely happy with himself for suggesting this plan to the instructor before the lesson began.

"All right, boys," Mr. Hanson said, turning to face Peter, who was still somewhat unsure of what he was about to do and had yet to settle into any form of ready stance. "Peter here is going to help me demonstrate the basic attacks and parries. Just with blades, as I said before." Turning to Peter, he asked him if he had had a chance to peruse the book he'd given him, and Peter nodded that he had. "Good, good. We'll keep this simple."

He gestured to Peter. "You can't stand like that…"

The boy smiled a little and nodded, adjusting himself so that he was holding the crutch under his left arm and putting all the weight on his left leg. His right leg, useless though it was, was out in front as was his right arm, now holding the foil.

He had his body turned the way the instructor had demonstrated back in their first class and Mr. Hanson nodded. "Feel somewhat steady like that?"

Moving his right arm around a little, he shrugged. "Pretty steady. It's a little unusual," he said honestly. "But I don't think I'm going to topple over."

With a chuckle, Mr. Hanson nodded and settled himself into his own stance. "For the first drill, I want you to parry my attack to the chest, and then come in with your own. It was the first thing you read in the book," the man said.

Peter frowned, but nodded. The foil felt so very light in his hand and his hand gripped the foreign hilt perhaps tighter than he should have. But he didn't want to make a fool of himself and was determined to do this right.

Mr. Hanson moved in with his attack and Peter didn't hesitate to parry it with a small tap, and then slip immediately into the riposte, aiming for Mr. Hanson's chest.

Both drew back to their start points and Mr. Hanson smiled and nodded. "Just like that. Nice and easy to start with," he said, turning to the class. "We'll go a little faster this time." Turning back to Peter he launched a quicker attack and Peter parried and countered faster than before.

Grinning a little more, he realized he could learn to like just doing this. It was better than sitting and watching any day and he was very glad Mr. Hanson had asked him to help.

"Give that a go with your partners," the instructor said, addressing the whole class. "Start slowly and build up in speed as you get the hang of it." He moved to stand beside Peter as the club members got down to work. "You're comfortable with a blade," he said to the blonde boy, who was still clutching the foil in his right hand.

Peter looked down at the blade and held it out, adjusting his grip on it again. "It's no broadsword," he said. "But that's probably good. The lighter blade doesn't set me off balance so much so I can sort of participate." He looked over at Mr. Hanson. "Thanks for letting me."

With a small sigh, the man looked out over the group. "I could tell how badly you wanted to be out there," he said, gesturing to the boys. "It's not often I find students as disciplined and interested in fencing as you and your brother and I wanted to let you participate. I know you can't do the lunges and the footwork, but, based solely on what I just saw, I think your blade work is already above par."

Blushing a little, Peter shrugged. "I think knowing how to read body language helps," he said. "I've learned to notice subtle muscle movements and even facial expressions and a lot of the time they give away when someone is going to move, and sometimes _how_."

Mr. Hanson eyed Peter in a new light. "I think watching you and your brother in a broadsword fight would have been quite a treat," he said quietly. "I actually brought some from home and was hoping Edmund would oblige me after the lesson. It's been ages since I picked one up, but I would love to give it a go."

Peter laughed. "I'm sure Ed will like that," he said.

Nudging Peter's arm, he said, "Next we'll show them a beat attack. Remember that one?"

"Where the attacker taps their opponent's blade away and makes a lunging attack?" he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows in thought. "That the one?"

"Yes," Mr. Hanson said, patting Peter on the shoulder. "Do you have a photographic memory to go with that sword skill?"

Chuckling Peter shook his head no and watched the man gather the students back together for the next demonstration. "All right, one more drill for today, we have to break a bit early, I'm afraid." Turning to Peter, he allowed the boy time to get set before continuing. "I'll be the attacker first. This is what we call a beat attack and it's really very simple, but quite effective. I tap aside Peter's blade – " he did do as he spoke – "and then move in with a lunge attack to his chest."

Backing up, he repeated the attack and then nodded to Peter to try it.

Brandishing the foil, Peter lightly knocked Mr. Hanson's foil aside, just enough for him to bring his own blade forward in an attack. Nodding at the correct move, Mr. Hanson moved back into starting position. "Faster this time," he said. "As fast as you can, because I'm going to counter your attack."

Peter's eyes narrowed a bit at that, but he nodded.

Both eyed each other and employing all the years of sword-fighting he had, Peter kept any evidence of his impending move out of his body language and off his face.

In a flash, he moved, tapping Mr. Hanson's foil and thrusting his blade forward. Of course, the man caught it before it hit him and Peter didn't score a hit, but Mr. Hanson was nodding in pleasure none-the-less.

"You nearly had me," he said with a smile. "Talk about your poker face."

Edmund was beaming at his brother and exchanged a glance with a wide-eyed Perce. With a smile, he said, "I told you my brother was good. If he didn't have that bum leg, and these were broadswords, you'd have to find your jaw after it hit the ground. He's that good."

For the next ten minutes, the boys practiced the beat attack and then mixed up the previous drill and this one, trying to surprise one another. Peter and Mr. Hanson had a lively session where the blonde boy managed to sneak one shot in on the man, but took the brunt of the attacks himself.

No one could have pried the smile off his face.

Though, the three boys watching from the nearby doorway wanted nothing more than to do just that. "Look at him," Rupert Halliwell growled. "Even being crippled, he _still_ wows the crowd with his superiorness."

Hank and Martin exchanged glances and the former mouthed "superiorness" before they had to hold in laughs at their leader's lack of verbal skills. They hid their reactions when Rupert turned toward them.

"We'll show him," the boy said with a grin smile. "His brother will need a shower after this. That'll leave him alone. And where does he go when he's alone?"

Hank and Martin both spoke. "The willow tree."

* * *

"Edmund?"

The dark-haired boy turned to face the fencing instructor as he gathered his things and wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead. "Yes, sir?" he asked, eying where Peter was sitting on the bleachers, for all intents and purposes looking like he wasn't leaving anytime soon.

With a smile, Mr. Hanson dragged two familiar blades from under the nearest bleacher. "Care to have a go?"

Face erupting in a wide smile, Edmund dropped his bag and hefted the broadsword Mr. Hanson handed him. "Of course!" he said enthusiastically. "Are we going to wear any protective gear?" He eyed his fencing attire, but realized it was a far cry from the armor he was accustomed to wearing.

With a frown, Mr. Hanson nodded. "We may as well," he said. "Neither of us have any idea how talented the other is and we might benefit from some padding."

Both dragged on their jackets again, but left off the face masks.

Peter sat back in his seat ready for a good show.

Edmund and the instructor saluted each other respectfully before the boy set up in his customary stance, looking for all the world like he was born standing like that with a blade in hand and Mr. Hanson had a moment of doubt. Was this really such a good idea?

"Ready?" Edmund asked, and received an affirmative.

Nodding, the boy let Mr. Hanson make the first move. Moving forward in a decidedly fencing-like move, he advanced with his right leg in the lead, his blade in his right hand, thrust toward Edmund's torso.

But as he moved, the boy was already pivoting on his front leg and bringing his back leg around to the side, effectively putting him out of the blade's path. Edmund brought his blade across his body and sliced toward Mr. Hanson's exposed chest, nearly catching the man before he nimbly skipped backward.

Edmund was already moving forward to continue his assault, bringing the blade from right to left and forcing Mr. Hanson to quickly bring his own sword across his chest and to deflect Edmund's off to the side before moving forward, past the boy.

In a swift move, Edmund brought himself around to face his opponent, a smile still plastered on his face.

Stepping it up, the dark-haired boy moved in a flurry of strikes, driving Mr. Hanson back since the man seemed hell-bent on only moving forward or backward. When they were nearly across the room, the teacher finally relented and twisted around in a circular motion, allowing the combatants to return to the center of the gym.

Peter, sitting on the bleachers, noticed quickly that the clanging of broadswords had drawn the fencing club back to the gym and they were standing, gaping really, at Edmund and Mr. Hanson's now fierce movements.

The young boy had already landed a few light blows to Mr. Hanson's person and the man was smiling broadly as he tried out a few of the maneuvers that Edmund was employing, learning as he went.

Quentin appeared at Peter's side suddenly. "When you didn't show up to eat, I thought something was wrong," he whispered. "Then I heard about some kid fighting the fencing teacher and winning. Knew it had to be Edmund."

Word sure did travel fast. And the gym sure did _fill up_ fast too.

There was a loud clang from the gym floor and Peter turned back to see Edmund standing calmly and Mr. Hanson brushing dust off his pants as he stood up. "That last move was something else, Edmund," he said with a chuckle. "Who taught you that?"

Grinning, he pointed his sword toward the bleachers. "Peter."

Patting Edmund on the back and catching his breath, Mr. Hanson was beaming. "You, Edmund, are a natural duelist," he said. "I think you have a future in fencing, my boy. I should very much like to offer to coach you on a regular basis, if you are interested."

Immediately, Ed's eyes latched on Peter's as the audience murmured in surprise. It was as if he was begging permission from his brother.

Frowning inwardly, Peter knew he _was_ in a way, asking with his eyes if Peter would be all right with Edmund getting more involved with something they both loved – but only one could pursue.

Nodding lightly, Peter smiled at his brother encouragingly.

"I think I'd like that," the younger boy said with a grin.

Mr. Hanson took the broadsword from the boy and looked to Peter. "You taught him that last move, huh? Just how much of that did Edmund actually learn from you?"

Peter shrugged. "Some."

But Edmund smiled broadly. "More than _some_," he said. "I had a lot of trouble sometimes understanding our teacher. Peter would learn it all so fast and then explain it differently so I'd get it. I wouldn't be nearly as good if it weren't for him."

He patted his brother on the arm. "With one sword, Peter was nigh unbeatable when we sparred, and he could defeat our teacher on a regular basis. But I was always better with two swords, anyway." He chuckled. "I could only ever beat Peter when we sparred with dual-swords."

Mr. Hanson's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline -- which was saying something, since he had a bit of receding hairline. "Two swords?" He shook his head. "Edmund, I think I can make a winning competitor out of you. And not just with a foil. I think you'd do well in saber and epee as well."

Sighing, he looked at his watch. "But I have a dinner to get to," he said forlornly. "Can't keep the missus waiting. We'll talk more after mid-term holidays are over. Great job today. Both of you."

Quentin's eyes widened at that and Peter gave him an _I'll tell you later _look instead of explaining.

Edmund wiped at his wet hair. "I need a shower," he griped. "Peter, are we meeting at the willow? I want to see Lucy's letter!"

Nodding, Peter turned to Quentin. "Will you be there after chess club?"

"Righto, Peter," he said with a smile. "Gets out in an hour and I'll come out and find you guys as soon as I stow my board back in the room."

Standing with a grunt, Peter gripped his crutch and smiled. "You looked great, Ed," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a willow tree to get to and a brother and best friend to wait for."

He moved off quickly, leaving Edmund to head to the showers and Quentin to the chess club.

* * *

Whistling.

Then humming.

Now outright singing.

Peter couldn't believe how happy he was. He'd been able to pick up a foil and join in the fencing class. It looked like his brother might end up the next Olympic fencing champion someday. Things were looking up for sure.

Settled against the willow tree's trunk, with his crutch off to the side, Peter laid his head back against the old tree and watched the long, vine-like branches swaying in the light breeze.

It was mesmerizing and it was so peaceful that before long – Peter was fast asleep.

For once, his dreams were good. Laughing with Caspian and his siblings. Seeing Aslan and talking with him. The banquet and the stories. The mock fights and lying around in the grass afterward, basking in the warm sunlight.

Just as his dreams turned to bantering with Quentin and Edmund over stories of suitors, he was roughly jostled from his sleep as his body tilted to the left and his shoulder slammed to the ground.

Eyes snapping open, Peter saw a foot coming toward his chest and rolled away, sitting up and rubbing his sore shoulder as he did so.

Rupert Halliwell stood grinning behind Hank and Martin, who were advancing on him. The younger boy was slapping the end of a cricket bat against his open palm.

"Hello Peter," he said cheerfully. "Not much of a swordsman when you're down there, eh?" He laughed as Peter tried to move away from Hank and Martin, scrambling backwards until he was beside the tree.

As the stocky Hank drew his leg back to kick out at Peter, the former High King thrust his left leg out and slammed it into Hank's shin with enough force to knock the boy to the ground.

Clutching the wounded leg, he glared at Peter with tears springing from his eyes.

Martin and Rupe both converged on Peter and he instinctively protected his head against their blows, but could do little to stop the punches and kicks that were landing on his torso and back.

When they backed off for a moment, he spied the wooden handle of his crutch – just within reach if he lunged far enough. As Rupert brought the cricket bat down in a wide, swinging arc, Peter flung himself to the left and grasped the crutch in his right hand.

Throwing his weight back over, he brought the crutch up and it slammed into Rupert's bat with a bone-jarring crack and a splintering of wood. Incensed at the resistance, Halliwell swung the bat again, but it was a wide swing and Peter had no trouble at all bringing the crutch up to deflect it.

Seeing a recovered Hank limping over, anger in his eyes, he used the crutch to block another kick from the boy and sent him howling and clutching his foot this time.

Rupert took the distraction Hank caused and used it to his advantage, raising the cricket bat over his head and swinging as hard as he could downward at Peter. Gripping the crutch in two hands, Peter brought it up and caught the heavy strike with it.

There was a splintering crack and the crutch gave a little under the onslaught.

Releasing the crutch with his left hand, he twisted his right, sending the free end toward Rupert's stomach, and adding power to the blow by using his left hand to grab just below his right and add torque to the crutch.

It slammed into Rupert's solar plexus and the boy let out a great huff of breath and dropped the cricket bat, clutching his midsection and panting for air that didn't want to come.

Martin, seeing his leader ailing, darted forward angrily. Peter still held the crutch and used it to sweep the incoming boy's feet from underneath him. Falling forward with a shout, Martin's head hit the willow tree with a loud thud and the boy fell limp.

Peter winced, not having wanted to seriously injure any of his attackers. The blonde was bleeding from a split lip and holding tightly to his ribs, watching as Rupert and Hank eyed each other, then ran to Martin and grabbed his arms.

"Go, go," Rupert said, his voice barely audible through his gasps. "He can't walk with that thing now, anyhow." He turned and stumbled away, he and Hank dragging Martin's dead weight along with them.

Peter was still pumped with adrenaline and for the moment the pain wasn't so bad. He groaned when he saw Rupert was right about his crutch, it was cracked far too badly to support his weight.

And he had no idea how long before Edmund and Quentin would come out and find him. Shifting, he felt a sharp, fiery pain in his ribs and grunted. Bruised? Cracked? He couldn't tell. But he knew he needed to get them checked.

Looking around, he saw nothing to aid him in walking and glared at the distance between himself and the infirmary building. Grudgingly, he thought about shouting for help. It was a weekend, surely someone would come outside? It wasn't _that_ cold out!

But no, there didn't appear to be anyone outside.

Tossing the crutch down beside his bag, he shook his head and started to pull himself along awkwardly, his right leg dragging behind him and making progress slow.

At this rate, he'd get to the infirmary in a few _days_.

Reaching the corner of the gymnasium building, behind which was the infirmary, Peter paused for a break, rubbing his chest and trying to relieve the rapidly growing pain from his ribs.

Glancing back toward the willow tree, he sighed when he saw no sign of Edmund. Quentin's chess club still had 40 minutes or so before they let out, so he hadn't really expected to see his friend.

Shaking his head, he set off again, rounding the bend and losing sight of the tree.

By the time he got to the infirmary building, he was about ready to faint from exhaustion. Or pain. Or both. And things had been going so _well_ today. "Never a dull moment," he muttered, finally reaching the nearest door and edging it open.

His eyes were met by the stocking-clad legs of the school nurse.

"Pevensie?!" she exclaimed. "What on earth?"

He looked up, pained eyes meeting her wide ones. "Had a spot of trouble, ma'am," he said quietly, wincing at a painful jolt in his chest. "And my crutch is broken."

Stooping, she lifted him up and slung his arm over her shoulder, drawing a sharp hiss from him as his ribs protested violently. "This just isn't your year, is it, Peter my dear?" she said, shaking her head. "But I'll have you fixed up in no time."

Outside, Peter's broken crutch lay beside his abandoned book bag. A cracked cricket bat and spots of spilt blood littered the ground a few feet away.

* * *

_Earlier… _

Toweling his hair dry as much as he could, Edmund couldn't stop grinning. All the while in Narnia, Peter had been the competitor and Edmund was very excited that _this time _– this time he'd be getting his chance to shine.

And with Peter's blessing.

Running a quick hand through his dark locks, he stowed away his shower gear and slung his bag over his shoulder. He'd taken a little longer this time, daydreaming about fencing matches and competitions, and had to finally drag himself out of the hot shower because poor Peter was waiting outside.

"Hey, Pevensie," Jimmy Santory waved from a nearby shower stall where he'd just finished himself. "That was _something_ else in there! You're really good with a sword! Where'd you learn all that?"

Smiling lightly as memories of Narnia and Oreius flitted in his mind, he turned to Jimmy. "My brother and I learned when we went to the country," he said. "The man we stayed with was a sword master in his heyday." He shook his head. "It's too bad about Peter's leg. He's better than I am, and that would have been a great match to see."

"_Better_?" Jimmy breathed. "I can't imagine. See you after hols!"

Edmund nodded and hurried away, glancing at his watch. Peter was going to be wondering what was taking him so long by now.

Bursting through the doors and onto the back lawn of the school, he aimed toward the willow tree in the distance and was vaguely surprised to see Peter's bag – but no Peter. Perhaps his brother was on the other side of the tree, for some reason?

As he drew closer, his brows furrowed more and more.

"Peter!" he called out. "Sorry I took so long, but I got sidetracked thinking about what Mr. Hanson said." He trailed off as he tripped on something. Stooping down, he picked up a book. Peter's geometry text. "What in the world? Peter?"

Reaching the tree, he spied Peter's crutch and his eyes widened.

It was broken.

Nearby was a cricket bat.

And it was cracked.

"Peter!" Edmund called out, springing into action and sprinting the rest of the distance to the tree. Reaching down, he picked up the crutch and paused in mid-stand.

Blood.

Panic jolted through Edmund and he clutched the crutch and darted around the tree. "Peter?!"

No Peter.

His sharp eyes, used to tracking and picking up the smallest of details, took in the splotches of blood, the trampled grass and the strewn school supplies. Someone had attacked Peter. And he had a good idea of who it had been.

"Halliwell," he growled. "When I find you…"

But he had bigger things to worry about. Like finding Peter before they hurt him more. Focusing closely at the marks on the ground, he noticed what appeared to be heel marks from someone being dragged.

"Peter…" he whispered. "Where did they take you?"

Realizing he would need aid against Rupert and his bullies, since he was sure it had been them, he turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the common room where the chess club met.

He nearly bowled over three boys huddled together discussing algebra in his haste to reach the common room. Slamming through the doorway, he didn't care that all heads turned toward him or that he looked like a panicked rabbit being chased by a wild wolf.

"Quen!" he panted. "Need you."

The other boy didn't hesitate for even a second, standing so fast he nearly upended the table with his and his opponent's chess board. Casting back a quick "Sorry" he hurried toward Edmund, who immediately latched onto his arm and dragged him into the hallway and away from prying ears.

"Edmund, calm down!" Quentin said, pulling on his arm to relieve the pressure Edmund was putting on it. "What's gotten into you?"

Shaking his head, Edmund kept dragging Quentin as he spoke. "Peter…something's happened," he said. "I found his crutch and his school stuff and blood and trampled grass. Someone attacked him, Quen. I just _know_ it and I need to find him. I think they might have dragged him off."

Quentin's eyes widened. "What!?" He didn't need to be tugged along any longer; he was immediately running faster than Edmund, whose legs were shorter. Bursting through the doors, both boys sprinted back to the willow tree.

"See?" Edmund pointed to the ground. "Those two lines are heel marks. The ground is soft enough still that whoever they dragged left them in the grass."

Quentin swallowed, taking in a splotch of blood. "Bloody hell, Peter…what have you gotten into now?" He shook his head. "We need to get help, Ed."

"What?" Edmund asked, already looking around for more signs of where Peter had been taken.

"Ed, I know you were a King and probably dealt with stuff like this all the time, but this _isn't_ Narnia. We have no authority! We need to get Headmaster Clark. We can't do anything to Peter's attackers…he can!"

"There's no time!" Edmund growled, dark eyes flashing. "Damn it, Quentin…he's my brother, and without his crutch, he won't be able to walk! He's at their mercy, and that blood means that he's hurt. If he's unconscious, he'll be even more vulnerable! We have to find him! I'm not going to wait around and go through channels while Peter is missing!" Edmund pointed at the tracks. "I can find Peter. If you don't want to help, that's fine. But I am not leaving him alone."

Quentin looked between Edmund and the bloody ground, before his eyes went to the drag marks in the grass. "Let's go then," he said, setting off in the direction of the gouges.

Edmund nodded and the two hurried along, following the telltale signs of a body being dragged through the grass.

In the opposite direction of the infirmary.

* * *

"Shut _up_, Hank, he's fine!"

Edmund and Quentin couldn't make out Hank's reply from outside the supply shed near the greenhouses. Whatever it was, his tone made it sound like he wasn't agreeing with Rupert on something.

"No nurse!" came Rupert's raised voice.

Edmund's interest was peaked beyond his ability to curtail it and before Quentin could stop him, the younger boy kicked open the supply shed door and bathed the inside of the building in the light of the rapidly setting sun.

He was about to call out "Peter" when he realized there were only _three_ boys in the shed – Rupert, Hank and a very groggy Martin. So instead, he seethed, "Where is my brother? What have you done with him?"

Quentin stepped into the shed beside Edmund, watching with trepidation as the younger boy shook with anger and clenched his fists tightly against his sides. It looked like Edmund was at the very edge of his control.

Rupert looked up at the newcomers with surprise that quickly turned to anger. "Don't know, don't care, Pevensie," he said. "That cripple brother of yours gave Martin a concussion. Maybe they'll throw him out."

Edmund took another step forward, one clenched hand drawing back for a strike. "If he did anything to any of you, he had good reason," he said with venom in his voice. "I'm not going to ask again. _**What have you done with Peter?**_"

Hank and the groggy Martin exchanged glances, but said nothing.

Rupert had no qualms about taunting Edmund, perhaps not noticing that the other boy was on the verge of snapping. "We just knocked him about a bit," he said, standing slowly. "Nothing he didn't deserve, the deserter."

"**My brother didn't desert**!" Edmund shouted, shocking all of the boys with the volume and the anger in his voice. "I told you, Halliwell, if you _ever_ said those words again I would make you pay and I didn't care if I would be expelled for it!"

He felt Quentin tugging on his shirt in the back, trying to make it seem like he wasn't. But Edmund ignored him, advancing with a sharp twist to dislodge the hand attempting to stay him.

"Peter stayed behind and tried to make sure _**everyone**_was away before he retreated from that battle in Greece and he nearly died because of it!" he said, still loudly but not yelling. "_**You have no right**_ to call him a deserter!"

Edmund was about to lash out at Rupert, who only now seemed to realize he was in danger of bodily harm and was cowering back from the enraged Edmund. Fist tight and drawn, Edmund took the final step to bring Rupert within range.

And froze as a glint of gold caught his eye and a voice sounded in his head.

"_Edmund_…"

The voice was warm. Familiar. But the tone was sharp and brooked no arguments.

The voice was Aslan's.

Reeling backward as if he'd been slapped, Edmund looked down at his fist and then back at Rupert. The other boy had backed up against a wall and was now warily eying Edmund as if he were a bomb about to explode.

A conversation – one that seemed ages in the past – came to the forefront of his mind. Standing above a Narnian encampment with Aslan, looking out over the assembled troops.

He had been young, foolish, and he had thought revenge was justified. Even if only for a few moments before he looked upon his siblings and realized the truth in Aslan's words.

"_Revenge is a coward's way out…"_ he whispered to himself.

Drawing himself to his full height, he turned to Quentin. "They aren't worth it," he said. "Let's go find the Headmaster. We must find Peter and make sure he's all right."

Turning on his heel, he strode from the supply shed leaving three stunned boys in his wake and walking beside one very relieved friend.

* * *

_Headmaster's office… _

"You say there was blood on the ground? And Peter's crutch was broken? And you saw a cricket bat, also damaged? This is quite a serious offense, if true, boys." Headmaster Clark swiftly stood and came around his desk to stand beside the two boys.

Edmund was wringing his hands together. "I don't know where Peter is, sir," he said. "I'm worried. There were three of them and only one of him and I don't know how badly he might be hurt…"

A hand on his shoulder slowed his words and Edmund turned worried eyes on Quentin, who said softly, "He'll be all right, Ed, you know your brother."

The headmaster nodded. "Why don't you start with the first logical place for Peter to go, if he was hurt," he said gently. "The infirmary."

The younger Pevensie's eyes widened. "Now why didn't I think of that before?" he murmured. His eyes snapped to Quentin's when the other boy chuckled suddenly. "What?"

Smiling, Quentin turned Edmund toward the door. "I expect you didn't think of it because you were sure that Peter had been dragged off after seeing those tracks," he said. "You had no way of knowing it was Martin they were dragging, not Peter."

The headmaster prodded them out the office door. "Off with you, I will take care of Mr. Halliwell and his cohorts," the man said, turning toward doors that would take him to the back lawn and the supply shed Edmund and Quentin had located the bullies inside of.

Mind locked on finding Peter, Edmund fairly flew down the corridor toward the infirmary. During his friendship with Rupert, Hank and Martin he had landed himself in the hospital wing a number of times, and knew the way there like he knew the back of his hand.

Skidding around the corner, Quentin on his heels, he nearly bowled over the slight, older woman who was the school's nurse. Madame Hendrix held up her hands and halted him.

"Slow down," she scolded. "This is a hospital wing, not a race track. Where were you going so quickly, boys?"

Edmund, clutching his chest from the run, swallowed. "We're looking for my brother," he said. "Peter Pevensie. He's been hurt, we know, but we can't find him anywhere!"

The woman grabbed Edmund's shirt and shushed him.

"Your brother is here," she said quietly. "But he is sleeping. You must be quiet or I will throw you right back out of here." She pointed to a nearby curtained off area. "He has two cracked ribs and a lot of bruising, but he'll be fine with rest and time."

Edmund was gone before she finished her sentence. Quentin paused long enough to thank the woman for letting them know what was wrong with Peter before he too disappeared behind the curtains.

Peter was pale, but he wasn't deathly pale. He was sleeping peacefully, turned on his left side with one arm tucked under the pillow and the other clutching the same.

Edmund stood like a stone beside the bed, just looking at his brother. He took in the split lip, the bruise darkening his brother's cheek and the stiff way the older boy slept.

Sighing, he leaned forward and gently laid a hand on Peter's right hand, resting on the pillow. The blonde stirred with a muttered, "What?"

He must not have been deeply sleeping.

"Peter?" Edmund whispered. "Are you awake?"

Blue eyes fluttered open and Peter blearily blinked at Edmund for a few moments before realizing who was by his side. "Ed!" he said. "I'm sorry!"

Edmund frowned. "Sorry? For what, Peter?"

Struggling, Peter tried to sit up, but Edmund held him down at the shoulder and he stopped moving with a frown. "I couldn't stop them," he said. "I know I must have worried you, Ed." He looked past Edmund to the other boy in the alcove. "Quentin. You too."

The boys both waved him off. "Worried? Who was worried?" Quentin chuckled. "We knew you'd be fine, Peter. Mighty High King and all."

Peter slapped his leg with a small smile, laughing. His laughter turned into wincing as his cracked ribs protested angrily. Breathing was uncomfortable, deep breathing was quite painful and laughing was _not_ a good idea.

Gripping his chest, he grunted lightly. "Ugh," he said with a frown. "No more jokes, please." Edmund sat on the bed beside him and rubbed his back lightly until Peter was relaxed. "Thanks, Ed," the blonde said with a smile.

They were interrupted when the curtain was drawn back and Headmaster Clark appeared with three boys in tow. Hank and Martin looked petrified, but Rupert was still seething as he looked at Peter.

The High King in the boy was certain there was more to Rupert Halliwell than met the eye, but the boy was angry that the bully wouldn't leave him alone and continued to call him a deserter.

"Ah, Peter," the Headmaster said, taking in the boy's death-grip on his ribs and the tightness of his expression. "I've spoken to the boys and they have given me their side of the story. I'd like yours, now."

For the next few minutes, Peter retold what had happened to him at the willow tree. Edmund had to keep his hands tightly clenched in his brother's bed sheets lest he jump up and deck Rupert for what he had done to Peter.

When the tale was finished, the headmaster shook his head sadly. Turning to the three boys, he said, "After speaking with Madame Hendrix, it is obvious you three caused serious bodily harm to Mr. Pevensie, and did so intentionally," he said. "It will be my recommendation that you be expelled from the school for your actions."

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances. Expulsion hadn't _really_ crossed their minds, but when they thought about it, the beating had merited such an action from the headmaster.

They were all surprised when Rupert suddenly shouted at Peter, trying to get to him but being restrained by Hank and Martin.

"I **hate you! **Why did _**you **_come back when _**he**_ didn't!? I _**hate you**__!_" There were tears of anger and perhaps of something else streaming down his face. "I hate you," he said again, this time in a whisper.

Peter was mortified. What was the boy talking about? He had to know.

"I don't understand," he said quietly, frowning at Edmund. "Who? Didn't come back from what?"

Rupert swiped furiously at his eyes. "My brother!" he yelled. "Don't remember him, do you Pevensie? His name was Teddy Halliwell. He was in your squad, wrote about how great you were. Weren't so great when you let him die, were you!?"

Peter's eyes widened. He never thought something like this could be the reason for Rupert's antagonism. "Private Halliwell. Teddy? Your brother?" he whispered, eyes glazed as he cast his memory back to Greece. Teddy Halliwell had been two years older than Peter and had been a good soldier. He followed orders when given and never complained. "I remember him."

Rupert's eyes seemed to narrow. "Do you remember when he died then? **Do you!?"**

Edmund wanted to stop the conversation right there. Thinking about his war experience always hurt Peter. But he remained silent. Part of him thought he might understand where Rupert was coming from if his brother had been killed in Greece. He _had_ once thought _his_ brother had died there as well.

Peter sighed. "I remember seeing him," he muttered, not really talking to any of them, but caught up in his memories. "I grabbed his arm and shoved him toward the retreating squads. He went. A few minutes later I was wounded and knocked out. I don't know what happened to him."

Rupert was still sobbing angrily. "He never made it out!" he cried. "He died in that mud hole. And you didn't. You came back and you…you…my…why didn't you help him!?"

Peter's eyes were wide and if they looked closer, those assembled would have seen the tears in them. Edmund surely did. He gripped Peter's hand tightly, drawing his brother's attention. The younger boy's eyes were all but shouting, _It's not your fault, Peter._

Looking up, Peter locked eyes with the younger Halliwell. "I couldn't," he said quietly. "I wish I could have saved them all. But I couldn't. I'm sorry about your brother. I'm so sorry."

Rupert broke down finally and only his friends' grips on his arms prevented him from falling. The headmaster looked between the two boys, a deep frown on his face.

Peter met the man's gaze. "Sir," he said quietly. "I know you planned to expel him, but in light of what's been said, I think a little leniency wouldn't be inappropriate here."

Edmund looked at Peter and for a moment swore he could see a golden crown on his brother's head. It wasn't there of course, but High King Peter _was_ in that room.

Headmaster Clark nodded lightly. "We might make an exception and only place a warning in Mr. Halliwell's file," he said quietly, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Young Rupert," he said gently. "You get off with a warning this time. Please understand that Peter is not responsible for what happened to your brother. You need to look past your anger and honor your brother's memory. Beating up a young man he admired and trusted is not the way to do so."

Rupert swallowed thickly, looking at Peter with tear-filled eyes.

"I miss him. Every time I see Pevensie and his brother, it hurts," he said quietly.

Peter found himself wanting to reach out and comfort the boy who had laughingly watched his friends beat him up. He wouldn't, but he understood now why Rupert had been so angry with him.

He had come back and Rupert's brother had not.

Edmund felt similarly. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, just gripped Peter's hand tighter in his. Part of him felt horrible for thanking the powers that be that Peter was alive, not dead like Teddy Halliwell. The other part of him couldn't help but feel grateful it had been someone else's brother and not his.

The headmaster steered Rupert, Hank and Martin out of the room, leaving Peter, Edmund and Quentin staring at the ringleader of the bullies – and pitying him. He had a legitimate reason to be upset, but obviously no guidance on how to handle it properly.

Edmund silently prayed. _Aslan, I don't know if you help others in our world, but that boy could use some of your wisdom right now. I know how much it helped me to become a better person._

* * *

_On the train departing Arkley Station… _

Peter leaned on the new crutch Madame Hendrix had given him. His face was contorted in pain from the pressure he was putting on his ribs, but there was no way he was going to be able to use a wheelchair – so he had to make do with the crutch.

Edmund was searching the nearby passenger cars for Susan and Lucy, knowing the girls would have gotten on the train before them since it stopped at their boarding school first. Quentin was standing quietly as his side.

"Pevensie?"

Turning as best as he could, Peter's eyes widened when he saw Rupert Halliwell standing behind him with his hands tucked into his coat pockets and his suitcase sitting on the ground by his feet.

"C…can I help you, Halliwell?" the oldest Pevensie boy said haltingly, unsure if the other planned to hit him again or not.

For a moment, Rupert looked like he wasn't going to reply. But then he looked down from gazing forlornly into the air and met Peter's eyes with his own. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I've been talking to the headmaster and I've realized I was…" he paused, running a hand through his hair. "I've realized it wasn't your fault that Teddy died."

He saw Peter flinch sharply and frowned. "I shouldn't have treated you like I did," he said slowly. "It was wrong of me to assume you left him to die to save yourself."

Looking down at Peter's leg, he added, "And I was wrong to say you were faking your injury. I just wanted to say I was sorry for beating you up and saying those things."

He looked down now, kicking at the ground at his feet.

Peter licked his lips and cast about for the right words. He wasn't sure there _were _any right words, but he had to say _something_. "I wish I could have saved Teddy," he said quietly. "I wanted to get them all out of there. But I was hit before I could. I had no idea Teddy hadn't made it out. I'm sorry you lost your brother, Rupert."

He looked past Rupert to where Edmund was restraining Susan and Lucy and imagined the pain he would feel if he had lost Ed at Beruna. Glancing back at Rupert, he felt he had to say something more.

"I didn't lose a brother," he continued, "But I did lose my father and I know, perhaps, a bit of what you are going through. Nothing will really make it better, but I hope you find some way to go on."

Rupert nodded. "We will," he said. "The headmaster said he'd give me the name of a friend. A psychologist. Someone I could talk to about my anger."

With a small smile, Peter nodded. "It should help, Rupert," he said, shifting painfully as the train lurched around a corner. "If you want to talk about Teddy, I'd be happy to tell you some of the antics he pulled during our time together," he said quietly. "You know where to find me."

Rupert didn't say yes, but he also didn't say no. Peter figured it was a start.

The other boy nodded indistinctly, picked up his suitcase, and disappeared into the throng of youngsters aboard the train. Quentin put a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, and then both boys looked toward the three younger Pevensies when Lucy fairly shouted to them.

"_**Peter!**_" she cried out, finally breaking free of Edmund's grasp and launching herself toward Peter. She skidded to a halt in front of him, noting his pained expression, and gently pulled him into a hug. "I've missed you!"

Holding in his wince, Peter forced a smile onto his face as Lucy pulled away. "I've missed you too, Lu," he said quietly, wobbling unsteadily as the train lurched again. Susan and Edmund came up beside them and the latter grabbed Peter's shoulder to prevent him from falling.

"Let's go sit," Susan said, eying Peter with raised eyebrows. He nodded and smiled lightly, determined to avoid worrying his sisters for as long as he could. Though, it appeared Susan was already onto something amiss.

As the train barreled toward Finchley, the Pevensie siblings and Quentin found an empty compartment. The latter had received a letter from home stating his parents were away, and Peter and Edmund had offered to ask their mother if Quentin could stay with them for the two weeks off.

"I'm sure she'll agree, Quentin," Susan said when the boys had explained nearly everything that had happened in their absence. The oldest girl turned to Peter. "Who was that boy you were talking to, Peter? He looked vaguely familiar."

Sighing, Peter looked out the window as he spoke. "That was Rupert Halliwell. One of Ed's former friends," he said in explanation. The girls both knew who _those_ boys were and were surprised Peter had been speaking to one of them. He looked toward Edmund, silently asking him to tell the tale.

Leaving nothing out, Edmund told Susan and Lucy about the taunts and culminated in the fight and the revelations in the infirmary. By the end of the story, Peter was leaning against the window fully, as if trying to squeeze through it to avoid speaking.

He was surprised when it was Lucy's hand on his shoulder that turned his attention back to the other occupants of the compartment. "Peter?" his youngest sister said quietly. "Remember what _He_ said about the night raid. I think the same applies here."

With a wan smile, Peter nodded. "Thanks Lu," he said. "It'll just take a bit of time to get over the shock of it. I had put most of Greece behind me and learning Teddy was Rupert's brother and that he had died, it sort of thrust it all back into my mind again."

His sister nodded and briefly tightened her grip on his shoulder before spying a piece of paper sticking out of his coat pocket. She pointed to it with a broad grin. "You liked my letter! You kept it!"

He nodded and drew it out. "You have a way with words Lucy," he said quietly. "They are your greatest strength – and at times your greatest weapon as well." Both of them inwardly cringed remembering when Peter had been the victim of her words.

There were smiles all around. Peter had let Edmund read the letter and Susan had read it before Lucy sent it. Only Quentin was looking at them oddly. "Sibling moments," he muttered, waving his hand. "Non-sibling here!"

Peter laughed and thrust the letter toward his best friend. "You can read it and know what we're talking about, then," he said with a smile. "Since you know about Narnia and all." He suddenly blanched when Susan and Lucy jumped and stared at him, jaws hanging open. "Oops."

Edmund sighed. "Yeah, you two, we told him about Narnia," the younger boy said. "He noticed too many odd things about us and he confronted Peter. It took a little while, but he believes us."

Still holding the letter, Quentin looked up and nodded. "It's fantastic," he said, "But I have no reason _not_ to believe Peter and Edmund. Still could use a bit more _proof_, but hey, you can believe in God and never actually see Him, so why not this Narnia place?"

Lightly waving the letter, he said to Lucy, "You ought to be a writer. You really are very good with words."

The youngest girl blushed and Peter took the letter back and tucked it away.

All five youngsters spent the rest of the trip talking about school and exchanging the good and the bad of their classes and classmates. When the train rolled into Finchley Station, Peter was the first up, since it would take him the longest to get off.

Wincing, he held out an unsteady hand to the nearest person, who happened to be Quentin. His friend looked worriedly at him, but at Peter's vigorous head shake, said nothing.

Inching their way to the nearest door, Peter stopped at the top. Edmund halted behind him and looked to Quentin, who was about Peter's height. "Why don't I hold the crutch and you use Quen to get off?" he said. Nodding uncertainly, Peter handed his brother the crutch and eyed Susan at the bottom of the steps.

Quentin came up on his right side, stepped down a step and waited as Peter wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder, gripping the handrail with his left hand.

Leaning on Quen and pushing off the handrail, he was able to move down the steps. It wasn't painless, but it worked for their purposes. At the bottom, Edmund handed him the crutch back and they moved a few feet from the train so it could move on while Peter rested.

Susan gulped and tapped Peter on the shoulder.

"What?" he said, looking up, still clutching his chest against the pain. He followed her gaze and frowned deeply. "Oh. That."

They were eying the twenty or so steps from the underground to the street level above. And they both knew there was no way that Peter was going to be able to get up them.

"Looks like you'll be needing a ride."

Peter looked to his other side where Quentin had a look of determination on his face. Handing his suitcase to Edmund, who looked questioningly back, Quentin gestured for Peter to let go of his own case and to hand his crutch to Susan or Lucy.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked nervously.

Quentin chuckled. "I'm not going to carry you like a baby, if that's what you're afraid of, Peter," he said. "Besides, I think that would hurt your ribs too much. But I could get you up the steps piggy-back style."

Eyes widening in understanding, Peter shook his head. "Are you sure? I'm not _that_ light, Quentin…"

Waving his friend off, Quentin moved in front of Peter and stooped enough for the other boy to wrap his hands around his neck. Reaching back, he grabbed Peter's bum leg first and situated it, before grabbing hold of his left and grunting as his friend's full weight was suddenly his to bear.

"Ugh, Pete," he said as Edmund helped make sure Peter was secure. "No more jammie dodgers for you, mate! Packing on the pounds!" He was smiling broadly, even though Peter couldn't see it and had lightly smacked the back of his head.

The five were soon out on street level and Susan, who had money from their mother for a cab, but knew they wouldn't all fit, was perusing the bus schedule as Peter regained his crutch and valise.

"Thanks, mate," he said to Quentin, even though his cheeks were stained red from blushing at being carried like a little girl. They had gotten a few odd stares, but seeing the crutch in Susan's hand, many appeared to understand.

"There's a bus arriving in a few minutes that goes near home," Susan finally stated, turning to face her siblings and Quentin. "I think we ought to take it. Mum's expecting us by cab, but we can't all fit."

Nodding in agreement, they caught the bus when it arrived and disembarked a street over from Dorset Drive. All eyes fell on Peter as soon as they were off and the bus driving away.

He sighed. "It's a bit of a walk, but at least there are no stairs to climb," he said with a small smile. "I'll be fine, guys. Honest."

Edmund swooped in and picked up his and Peter's bags before the blonde could reach down for his. "I'll be taking these," he said, his tone firm and resolute. Peter knew it was his "I'm a king, listen to me" voice again and nodded his understanding.

As they walked, and Peter labored, they each wondered how Mrs. Pevensie was going to react to her son's bum leg. When Peter had left for school, it had been hard to walk, but he _could_.

Of them all, Peter was most worried of her reaction. She had already been through so much, he hated to add more to her woes. But there was nothing to be done for it.

* * *

_25 Dorset Drive, Finchley… _

A cab slowed down outside the house and Helen Pevensie inched closer to the window. But no, it wasn't stopping, just slowing for the stop sign at the end of the road.

She sighed heavily and shook her head.

The kids should have been home by now. The train would have reached Finchley station at 6:15 and it was now 6:45. Plenty of time for them to disembark and catch the cab.

Running out of things to straighten up in the house, she sat on the sofa and began tugging on her shoes. Having worked late, she hadn't stopped to pick up the mail so now was as good a time as any.

Throwing her coat over her shoulders and slotting her arms into the sleeves, she buttoned it up against the October chill and then pulled open the door and stepped outside.

It was getting dark and she expected there was only about ten minutes of sunlight left in the day. She hoped the kids were all right. "Perhaps the train was delayed," she said, muttering under her breath as she tucked her hands into her pockets and walked to the mailbox.

Now that Peter was no longer in the Army and Mr. Pevensie had passed on, most of the post was utility bills that she was struggling to pay. There were the letters from the kids, of course, but with hols here, Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy hadn't sent any letters this week.

Sighing again – she'd been doing it since she started cab-watching – Mrs. Pevensie turned back toward the house and took a step forward. But movement out of the corner of her eye stopped her from continuing.

There were five figures coming down the street. One leaning on a crutch, one rather short. Two appeared to be girls, by their skirts, the other three boys. But she only had _four_ children, so it couldn't be.

Could it?

Helen turned and looked more closely.

Light from a passing cab illuminated one of the faces. Lucy.

"Children!" Helen called out, dropping all the mail and not caring in the slightest. Moving quickly, she intercepted Lucy and gathered the smiling girl into a tight hug. "Oh I was getting worried!"

She stood up, releasing Lucy, and drew Susan, who was directly in front of her, into a hug as well. Returning the gesture, Susan winced lightly when she felt her mother stiffen suddenly and jerk back.

Pulling away, she turned and followed the woman's gaze.

Peter.

"What…what happened?" she asked, hurrying forward and holding Peter by the shoulders, getting a good look at the still visible split lip and blue-green bruise. And the crutch. "Peter. Oh my goodness."

He peeked up at her through his fringe. "I'm all right, Mum," he said quietly. "It's a bit of a long story. Can we go inside first? It's been a long trip and we're all kind of tired."

Snapping into action, the woman nodded and took one of the bags Edmund was carrying, kissing him on the forehead gently in greeting. She spied Quentin and nodded to him but refrained from getting into _why_ he was there just yet.

Holding the door open, she watched as Peter made his way to the couch and Quentin helped him sit on it. It wasn't lost on her that he was in pain and it hurt her heart to think he had been injured again.

Edmund and Lucy took the bags into the respective rooms, and then Lucy ran back outside to pick up the dropped mail. Helen sat beside Peter, who was half-smiling, half-wincing at her.

"Peter?" she said. "Please. Talk to me."

Quentin backed away, and grabbed Edmund as he went. The younger boy was about to protest, but Susan put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. She understood as Quentin did that Peter would want to talk to their mother alone.

Lucy was grabbed as she ran back from getting the mail and was tugged along as well, leaving the oldest Pevensie child and the mother in the living room alone.

"Mum," Peter said, twisting carefully until he was facing her. "After we left for school, I had a bit of a … a relapse, I guess you could call it," he said. "I've lost all feeling in my right leg and have been getting around with a crutch all term."

He paused as her hand fluttered to her mouth and her grip on his hand tightened. "Oh Peter," she said, tears gathering in her eyes, but not yet spilling. "No feeling at all? I don't understand. You were fine, a little sore is all, last I saw you."

Peter bit his lip. "I know, Mum," he said. "But there was a chance this could happen. I…I just didn't want to believe it, so I didn't tell you. And I didn't mention it on the phone because it was something I had to tell you in person."

As the tears began to fall, Peter swallowed hard to hold back his own. He hated hurting his mother, and he could tell she was hurting for him. He reached out carefully, mindful of his cracked ribs, and drew the woman into a hug. Her sobbing increased as she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Peter, why is this happening? Haven't we gone through enough?" She sniffed and pulled back a little, tear tracks marring her cheeks. "How are you taking it? I can't…I can't imagine, Peter. I wish there was something I could do for you."

Mustering all the High King he could, Peter put on a smile and wiped his mother's tears away. "I'm fine, Mum," he said. "I'm alive. That's enough for me. Even if I can't get up and run around, I'm with you guys and that's all that matters."

She smiled. "My son," she said quietly. "I must have missed when you grew up. I still think of you as my little man and remember you climbing on a stool to reach the cookie jar."

He snorted. "I'm not so little anymore," he said with a grin. "I can get those cookies just fine from the ground." Sobering, he bit his lip again. "There is something else I need to explain," he said. "Well, two things actually."

Resting back against the couch, he looked over the back of it and down the hallway where the children's rooms were. Four sets of eyes were peeking out of two different doorways. With a smile and slight wave, he gestured for them to return to the living room.

Mrs. Pevensie chuckled. "They were all watching, like little hedgehogs poking out of their holes?"

Peter nodded and laughed lightly. _Very _lightly. "Yeah," he said. As soon as the others had reached them and had jostled each other around for good seats, Peter spoke again. "I had a bit of a run-in with a few school troublemakers. That's why I'm so stiff and sore."

Edmund huffed. "What he may be trying to avoid saying, Mum, is that he got beat up a bit," the boy said, meeting Peter's eyes and daring him to stop him. The older boy didn't take the dare. "He has two cracked ribs and a bunch of bruising, but Nurse Hendrix said he would be fine."

Helen looked on the verge of tears again, so Peter quickly jumped back in. "The boy who did it was very upset that I survived the battle in Greece and his older brother didn't," he said quietly. "I sort of understand where he was coming from, and he is going to be getting counseling. I'd like to just put it behind us."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Helen turned to Quentin. "It's good to see you, Quentin," she said, making an effort to drive any melancholy from her voice and change the subject. "I was a bit surprised outside, since no one told me you'd be coming."

Quentin smiled. "It has been a while, Mrs. Pevensie," he said. "If it's a problem, I can take the bus home."

Peter slapped his forehead. "Oh, dear, sorry Mum!" he exclaimed. "It was last minute, I hope you don't mind that I invited him!" He turned sheepishly to the woman. "His parents went out of town and he'd have been home alone for the half term holidays."

Before Peter could talk around in a circle to plead his case, Mrs. Pevensie held up a hand. "Peter, dear, it's fine. Quentin is more than welcome to stay here."

She was about to continue when Lucy shrieked suddenly in delight.

"Lu?" Susan questioned, looking at the youngest sibling who was tightly gripping a letter in her hands and fairly bouncing in her seat. "What are you so ecstatic about?"

Holding out the letter to their mother, Lucy bubbled with excitement. "Can we go, Mum? Can we? Oh _please_ Mum. Please!"

Helen scrunched her eyebrows together as she took the letter and perused it. As she reached a certain point, her eyes widened and she gasped. "Oh my!" She exclaimed. "What an invitation!" Turning to her completely confused older children, she smiled. "Professor Kirke has asked us to come stay at the estate for the holidays. He said the old place gets a mite lonely and he'd love to have us brighten the halls for a while."

Quentin shifted uncomfortably. But Helen caught the move and shook her head. "Don't worry, dear, I'm sure the professor wouldn't mind another guest," she said. "Lord knows he has the room. To be sure, I'll send word and ask."

Peter was thrilled at the idea of going to the country. Memories of following Lucy through the wardrobe were flitting through his mind, and he imagined there were similar ones on his siblings' minds.

"When do we leave?" he asked with a broad grin.

"Two days, if all goes well," Helen said brightly. "Oh this is wonderful! But where are my manners. You five must be positively starved. Come on, let's have a bite to eat, shall we?"

There were five very enthusiastic exclamations of "yes".

_A/N: First off, jammie dodgers, I've been told, are a tasty British treat made from shortbread and raspberry flavored plum jam. I tried to look them up and it seems the company existed during the 40s. Hope I'm right! Please review and let me know what you thought of that MASSIVE chapter! Longest yet. And there is one more to come. Just one. I promise…yeah, I've said that before…_


	32. Chapter 32

_A/N: Gulp, the epic…concludes. _

**Part Thirty-Two:**

Peter shook his head and glared at Edmund.

"What!?" the younger boy asked, holding up his hands. "It's perfectly legal!"

The older boy pursed his lips and frowned. The move _was_ legal. It just brought him one step closer to losing and he had thought he was still better at _this_ than Edmund. That was proving to be wrong.

Moving his knight, Peter snatched another black pawn from the chess board with a small huff of breath. "Yeah, I know it's legal," he muttered. "When did you get so good at chess? Have you and Quen been hanging out without me?"

Edmund and Peter had played chess in Narnia, but Peter had always managed to stay one step ahead of his younger brother. It had been a competition of sorts between the two, one that they both enjoyed even if Peter nearly always won.

As a birthday gift, Peter had had a golden chess set made for his brother and had included, in jest, a book he had spent months penning with all sorts of chess moves and counter moves. When Edmund opened it, Peter had said, "Maybe now you'll finally beat me, since those are some of my best moves."

The younger King had spent weeks practicing the moves against anyone who would play against him and had gotten quite good. But until now, Peter had remained the better of the two.

He watched, a grim set to his lips, as Edmund moved again. "Check…" his brother said with a smug grin. "You're slipping, Peter."

Looking over the board, Peter shook his head again.

"I concede," he said, leaning back from the board. "There is no way out of this one, Edmund." Looking over at Quentin who nodded his agreement, the older boy held out his hand to his brother. "Good game, Ed. I think that's a record for our second longest game yet. I don't know if we'll ever beat the one we played on the journey back from Ettinsmoor."

Lucy groaned. "That game went on _forever_," she said. "You had to keep noting where the pieces were every time we broke camp. I swear the game was _days_ long. And all the while, Susan and I were trying to keep the Army running smoothly."

Peter scowled. "We weren't neglecting things _that_ much," he said, Edmund nodding his agreement. "I mean, it wasn't like there were any battles or anything. It was just a lot of walking."

Susan laughed. "Walking, Peter? If I recall, you were still far too injured to walk." She turned to Quentin. "Don't believe everything these two tell you about our time in Narnia. They sometimes leave out important facts."

"Yeah," Lucy chimed in. "Like the times they skirted around their duties."

Not one to back down from a challenge, Peter's eyes glistened with mischief. "_Oh really_, Queen Lucy the Valiant?" he said, drawing out the "oh really." She frowned and the smile dropped off her face as he continued. "I seem to recall a time when you weren't so keen on doing _your_ duty, dear sister."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"He wouldn't what?" Quentin said, turning to Lucy with interest. "What don't I know? Come on, I sense a tale here and you just can't leave me hanging."

Lucy was vigorously shaking her head from side to side behind Quentin as he focused his attention on Peter. Glancing at Edmund, who was smiling just as broadly, Peter turned to his best friend. "Boy do I have a story to tell you," he said cheekily, ignoring the fairly bouncing Lucy who was making choking gestures with her hands. "About the time Queen Lucy wasn't so Valiant."

_Peter and Edmund were both laid up in the infirmary after a battle gone horribly wrong a week ago. The oldest King was recovering from a nasty gash that had laid open his right thigh and the younger had taken a blow to the head that left him unable to stand without a severe case of dizziness that would send him crashing back down._

_And Susan, the one Pevensie who rarely fell ill, was sick with a stomach ailment that had her glued to a chamber pot and chained to her bed. Of all the times to get sick, she had to choose _now_._

_That left Queen Lucy the Valiant. Or, in this case, the normally-Valiant-but-not-so-Valiant-right-now. Because at the moment, the youngest Queen wanted nothing more than to hide under her sister's or one of her brothers' sick beds._

_She loved weddings. She loved dancing. She loved singing. She loved the food and the fun and the dressing up. But there was one thing she was sure she _wouldn't_ love._

"_But Peter! I _can't_!"_

_Peter, still far too pale but at least not on the verge of bleeding to death, glared at his sister as best he could in his condition. "Yes, Lucy, you can," he said slowly. "You're the only one who can do it and to refuse would be a great dishonor to the Duke of Archenland."_

_Swallowing and putting on her best puppy-dog face, Lucy moved to her brother's side and clasped her hands together. "Please, Peter," she said. "I'm too little. I really can't do this. Please, please ask them to wait until Susan is better. I never beg, Peter, but I'll beg if you want me to."_

_The older boy frowned. "Why don't you want to do it?"_

_Sighing, Lucy looked down. "BoysareyuckyandIdon'twanttowatchthemkiss."_

_Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Um, what?"_

_Huffing, Lucy crossed her arms across her chest. "I _said_, boys are yucky and I don't want to watch them kiss. It's gross, Peter," she said. "I'll never understand why older boys and girls like to _do _that. And if I have to _marry_ the Duke and his lady friend, I have to be _right_ there. Ewww."_

_She was miffed when Peter burst out laughing._

_Edmund, jarred awake by the noise, clutched his aching head. "Pete," he whispered, wincing hard. "Shut it! You're making my head feel like it's going to implode. I've already got an army trampling around on it."_

_Lucy was glaring at Peter. "It's not funny," she said shortly. "I'm only ten, Peter, that's far too young to marry someone. I think it would be disrespectful if I were the one to do it, anyway."_

_But her brother was shaking his head. "No, Lu," he said. "I've already sent word that we are all laid up, except for you, and the reply was, and I quote, 'We would be most honored to have Queen Lucy the Valiant officiate at our wedding'. So see, no trouble there." He reached out and patted her arm. "You'll just have to squint when they kiss."_

_Edmund couldn't help but snort, and it quickly turned into a pained gasp. "Oh, ouch!" he moaned. "Peter, no jokes. Please. For the love of Aslan, don't make me laugh."_

_Lucy wouldn't admit it, but there was more to her worries than simply the yuck factor. She had been there for countless marriages, but she had never played a vital role. She had attended court often, but decisions rarely fell to her. She had traveled to other lands, but it wasn't her duty to do the talking. _

_This time – it would all be on her shoulders. _

_What if she messed up her words? What if she called the Duke a Lord or something equally as wrong? Or if she accidentally started reciting vows like those back in England and not the ones here in Narnia? How many times had she heard the phrase, "in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part?" That's not what Narnians said._

"_Peter," she begged. "Please, please!"_

_But he wasn't having it. "No, Lucy," he said. "If you want to get out of this, then you will have to explain to the Duke and his lady yourself. I'm sure they would love to hear your excuse." He softened his tone. "I know you can do this Lucy. You can ride out to the battlefield and heal grievous wounds. You can officiate a little old marriage."_

"Little? **Little?**" _She threw up her hands. "Peter, this is the _**Duke of Archenland**_marrying a member of the _**Galman royal family**_. This isn't a little old marriage! This is…this is one of the biggest we've had to do! What if I mess up?"_

_He grabbed her hand and pulled her down to his level. "I'm sorry," he said. "This has really got you upset?"_

_She nodded. "Peter, I don't want to make fools out of us all by messing up."_

_He sighed. "You won't. If you want to practice, you can come here and we'll go over your part in the ceremony."_

_Not quite appeased, but having no other arguments, Lucy nodded forlornly. "All right, Peter," she said quietly. "I'll do it."_

"**Finally**_!" Edmund pulled a pillow over his aching head. "Peace!"_

_Lucy glared at the pillow, then spun on her heel and stormed out of the room._

"_Good job, Ed," Peter muttered._

Quentin shook his head. "So you did it, then," he said, turning to Lucy, who was trying to make herself as small as possible.

Edmund snorted. "Well, eventually, yes, she did do it," he said. "But that wasn't the end of her attempts to get out of it."

Lucy stuck her tongue out at her brother as he took up the tale.

"_Marnus, I don't feel well."_

_Lucy clutched her stomach and moaned a little. "I think I've come down with what Susan has. I feel like I'm going to be sick." She swayed a little for good measure. "Is Peter well enough to take my place at the wedding tonight?"_

_Marnus eyed Queen Lucy with a professional air. "Hmm. I don't know, my Queen," he said slowly. "High King Peter's leg is still very sore and it would pain him greatly to be standing, even with a crutch, for that long."_

_Frowning, Lucy sank onto the nearest bed with another small moan. It wasn't a moan of pain or sickness, but of defeat. But Marnus didn't need to know that…_

"_What about Ed? Is his head better?" She gulped and slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes widening. "Oh, oh that isn't good."_

_With worry in his eyes, the faun healer stepped closer. "Perhaps you should lay back, Queen Lucy," he said. "If you have what your royal sister has, I shall have to find the bite and bleed out the poison."_

"**Poison! Bleed?**"_ Lucy exclaimed, jerking upright suddenly and then realizing what she had done, trying to cover it. "I…I mean…oh…ugh."_

_The faun shook his head and came closer, pulling on Lucy's arm until she was sitting up and knew her façade had crumbled. "My Queen," he said gently, "that was a commendable attempt. But, your sister cannot stand, let alone make her way here. I believe you have a case of the jitters."_

_Lucy grimaced. "And…what would you prescribe, Healer Marnus?"_

_Smiling, he patted her shoulder. "A dose of courage and a dash of no-more-excuses might do it." She smiled weakly at his words and nodded with a sigh. He stepped back as she stood up and eyed the doorway with trepidation. _

_Before leaving, she turned back toward him. "Do you have something that would make it a little easier to stomach … the kissing bit? Because I really don't think I'll be able to stomach that."_

_Laughing, Marnus shook his head in response. "Sorry, my dearest Queen," he said. "That's something that perhaps age will cure. Just, try to glance the other way when they get to that part. And don't worry about the words. You know them, I've heard you reciting them all day."_

_Sighing, she nodded. "I suppose I have no choice. Another duty of Kings and Queens."_

_The faun watched her leave with a smile on his face._

"Okay, so faking an illness wasn't the most Valiant thing to do," Lucy said hotly. "But I was ten and I was really just, _blech_," she said, adding a gagging sound to her comment to really hit it home.

Quentin laughed. "You won't always think of it that way, Lucy," he said, patting Peter on the shoulder. "Isn't that right, mate?"

The oldest Pevensie nodded. "That's right," he said. "Someday, I'll be able to tell you I told you so."

Lucy's pink tongue darted out again.

"Well, so, did you do the wedding?" Quentin prompted, still not sure if the young Queen had managed to wiggle her way out of it or not. "Or did you try another stunt to get out of it first?"

Sighing, Lucy smiled lightly. "I did it. And I looked away when they _kissed_. I only messed up the words a little bit, and no one seemed to mind or maybe they didn't notice," she said. "Thankfully, I never had to do _that_ again. Or I would have come up with a better way to try and skive off. Give me anything else to do, just don't make me watch men and women having at each other."

She added a dramatic shiver for effect.

The five broke into laughter.

* * *

_Coombe Halt train stop… _

"Are you certain this is the right stop, Peter?" Mrs. Pevensie glanced at the rickety old sign and the wooden platform beside the train tracks. Aside from those two things, there was nothing but dirt, trees, fields and tracks. "It's … rather deserted."

Edmund laughed. "We were thinking the same thing the first time we came, Mum," he said. "But no, this is definitely the right place. As a matter of fact…" He stopped speaking as the sound of wheels clanking over dirt and stone broke the silence. "That must be Mrs. Macready."

Lucy bounced on the balls of her feet beside the road and waved excitedly as a horse-drawn carriage came around the bend in the road, kicking up a dusty plume behind the wagon.

Seating atop a wooden bench, reins in hand and heavy glasses on her face, was a stately older woman with a serious, but not unkind face. Pulling back on the reins, she "whoa'd" the horse until he stopped and then looked down at the six people at the side of the road.

Focusing on the eldest, she smiled lightly. "Helen, is it?"

Nodding, the woman stepped forward and reached up to shake hands with the older woman. "Yes, you must be Mrs. Macready," Helen said with a smile. "We are most appreciative of the invitation."

Waving her hand dismissively, Mrs. Macready replied, "The professor has been a bit melancholy of late. Company will do him some good." She looked past the woman to the children behind her, eyes halting on Peter for a moment before she moved on and spoke. "Though, I do hope we won't be replacing any windows this time…"

The four Pevensie children exchanged glances and Peter sheepishly shrugged. "I don't think so, Mrs. Macready. We'll try to be on our best behavior."

Nodding behind her, she said nothing.

Helen, Susan and Lucy clambered onto the back of the wagon, but Peter halted at the back and stared at it with a frown on his face. He suddenly yelped and clutched Edmund's shoulder when his brother and Quentin lifted him up and set him in the wagon. Susan let him use her shoulder as a lever to get himself up onto the seat.

The last two boys climbed aboard and Mrs. Macready urged the horses on toward the house. All six guests were silent as the carriage bounced along the road. Peter winced at each sharp jolt, his ribs protesting.

Mrs. Pevensie had insisted on wrapping them for the journey, and he was finding himself grateful for the added bit of support. Edmund's arm on his shoulder drew his attention, and he smiled painfully at his brother. "'M fine," he muttered, reaching over and patting the hand.

Edmund wasn't convinced. But there was nothing he could do to ease the jouncing ride so he just kept his grip on Peter's shoulder and hoped it was some comfort. Thankfully, the ride wasn't too terribly long and the house came into view soon enough.

"Bloody hell…"

There was a chorus of "language" from the four Pevensie siblings that shocked Quentin, who had spoken, and Mrs. Pevensie, who looked at her children with mild amusement on her face. All four of them gaped at their antics before smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry, won't happen again," Quentin said, and then he made a motion as if he were zipping his mouth shut, drawing chuckles from Edmund and Lucy and a broad grin from Susan and Peter.

The carriage drew to a halt at the base of a set of stone steps that led up to two massive mahogany doors. The mansion sprawled out to either side and towered above them, stained glass windows mixed with regular glass, and stone covered in the remnants of ivy plants that had withered with the approach of winter.

"My word," Mrs. Pevensie said. "This is a beautiful estate." Turning to her children, she smiled. "I'm so glad you were in such a lovely place during the Blitz." The smile faded a little as the woman's thoughts drifted to her husband briefly, but she pushed any sorrow away as an elderly man appeared in the doorway above.

Lucy saw him first and called out a greeting.

"Professor!" She exclaimed, a grin lighting up her face. "Oh thank you for inviting us!" She bounded up the steps, her bags forgotten, and the man smiled broadly as she gave him a strong hug.

"It's very good to see you too, Lucy," he said warmly, glancing out over the rest of his guests. Like Mrs. Macready, his eyes spent longer resting on Peter, but he said nothing about the crutch and the pinched expression. "Why don't you all come inside where it's warmer?"

He moved aside to allow Lucy through the door. Mrs. Macready, Helen and Susan followed, leaving Quentin and Edmund to hover around Peter at the foot of the steps. With a weary sigh, the oldest Pevensie slung an arm over Quentin's shoulder and the two made slow progress up the steps.

Edmund carried his, Peter's and Lucy's suitcases, struggling not to drop one of them as he followed the two boys up the steps. Peter paused in the doorway and smiled at Professor Kirke.

"We really appreciate your invitation," he said quietly. "It'll be nice to get away and relax. Sir, this is my best friend, Quentin Connors. I can't thank you enough for letting him come with us."

Quentin shook hands with the man, not releasing his hold on Peter just yet, since he could tell the other boy was feeling the brunt of his recent run-in with Rupert and was leaning more heavily than usual on his shoulder.

Patting the blonde's arm, the professor smiled – though the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's no trouble, Peter," he said. "You look like you could use a little rest and relaxation, my boy."

Smiling wanly, Peter nodded. "Boy could I, sir!"

Gathering in the sitting room, Mrs. Macready excused herself and the children and two adults left in the room could hear her call out to the nearest kitchen staff to bring a pot of tea and some cups into the parlor.

Professor Kirke chuckled. "I hope you are all hungry, I dare say Mrs. Macready has taken it into her head to prepare a bit of a banquet for dinner tonight," he eyed the four Pevensie children with a glint in his eyes, knowing they were well-acquainted with banquets.

They smiled back at him.

"Now," he said, turning to their mother. "Who is this lovely woman? No one saw fit to introduce us…"

Peter's jaw dropped. "Oh, oops," he said. "Professor Kirke, this is our mother, Helen Pevensie. Mum, this is Professor Diggory Kirke." He shook his head as they shook hands, muttering, "I seem to have left my manners in Finchley."

Edmund snorted behind him.

"Manners, what manners?"

Peter smacked Edmund's arm, and it looked like Edmund would have retaliated, but something stopped him. Something that hadn't been there last time.

"Boys!" Helen Pevensie glared at them from across the room. "Behavior?"

Smiling sheepishly, they intoned together, "Sorry Mum!"

The professor laughed lightly. "Oh, how I missed laughter and banter in these dreary old halls," he said. "Come now, sit, sit. We have much catching up to do." His gaze inevitably fell on Peter again, and the boy bit his lip but nodded in agreement. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected to have to do a little explaining.

Soon, Peter was haltingly recapping his experiences and when he finished, no one commented and the group moved on to school, work and other more mundane topics. And while he'd been forced to speak of the war, Peter found that just being in the country estate where their time in Narnia had begun was enough to ease any pain the memories of Greece had caused.

While the professor and Helen spoke, the five children all fell strangely silent.

They each knew their thoughts all dwelt on the rich apple-wood wardrobe upstairs. Even Quentin, who was wondering if the tale really _was_ true, and if he would find the proof he still needed somewhere in this grand house.

Lucy was wondering if the wardrobe still worked…

Susan was wondering if she wanted to go back to Narnia right now…

Edmund was wondering how Caspian was doing leading the kingdom…

And Peter…Peter was wondering if he would be whole again in Narnia…

* * *

_Professor Kirke's study…_

The visage was different than he remembered. Of course, the artist had never met _him_ and didn't know what _he_ really looked like. But the painting brought the elderly man some measure of comfort none-the-less. It had been many, many years since he had laid eyes on that magical land and this being in particular. But sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

Especially since the arrival of the Pevensie children.

A noise at the slightly ajar door drew his attention away from the painting behind his desk. Reddish brown hair gave the intruder's identity away. "Quentin, my boy, if you are going to linger there, you might as well come inside," the old man said with a small smile.

Sheepishly, the boy pushed the door open further.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "I know we weren't to bother you. But I just happened to notice you looking at that painting and I was curious." He paused. "Is that _him_?"

Feigning confusion, the man scrunched his eyebrows. "Who?"

Letting out a puff of breath, and looking toward the door to make sure no one was there, Quentin stepped closer. "That Aslan fellow," he said quietly. "Peter and Edmund told me all about Narnia and they mentioned you had been there as well." Looking past the man, he took in the painting of a golden lion standing atop a knoll in a green, flower-strewn field. "He doesn't look how I've tried to picture him."

Frowning, the professor gestured to a chair in front of his desk.

"That's because the painter had never met Aslan," he said quietly. "And unless you see him, you cannot capture his true self in a painting." Thinking, he added, "I doubt even one who _had_ met him could do so, for Aslan has a look about him that just can't be reproduced."

Sighing, Quentin shook his head. He looked lost in thought and the professor had a feeling he knew what it was all about. Narnia. The boy knew of the world, but had never seen it. And it was probably very difficult for him to believe just because his best friends told him it was real.

Appearing to come to a decision, Quentin met the professor's eyes.

"Sir," he said. "Is it real? Narnia? Because it sounds so insane! I want to believe Peter and Edmund. I've known Peter since we were little and I've never known him to be a fibber. But I just…I don't know!"

He slumped forward and ran angry hands through his hair and rubbed furiously at his eyes. Quentin growled in his throat and then looked up with bleary eyes. The professor pursed his lips and looked closely at the boy.

"Why would you believe in Narnia if _I _were to confirm it?"

Frowning, the boy cocked his head to the side. "I don't know. I suppose since you're an adult, I can't see you making something up like that." He shook his head again. "Who am I kidding, though? I mean, Peter is practically an adult too and he believes. I just don't know if I can."

Leaning back in his seat, the older man crossed his arms across his chest.

"My mother was very, very sick when I was a boy," he said suddenly. "The doctors said she wouldn't make it." Quentin was looking at him now, eyes shining with both interest and confusion. "I went to stay with my aunt and uncle in London."

Settling into his chair, he took a deep breath. "One day, myself and a girl I met, Polly, were exploring the attic at my uncle's house and stumbled onto his workroom. To make a long story short, my uncle tricked Polly into taking a ring – a very special ring. It transported her to the Wood Between the Worlds and I had to follow her."

Quentin broke in. "The Wood Between the Worlds? Is that in Narnia?"

Shaking his head, the professor replied, "No. It's hard to describe, but basically there are pools within this wood that lead into different worlds. One of those pools led to Narnia." He waved a hand. "But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Polly and I used the rings to enter one of the pools. And we ended up in the world Jadis ruled," he paused when Quentin's head snapped up. "Yes, the same Jadis that Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy fought against in Narnia. I awoke her and she tricked me into taking her to England . After a big to-do I managed to grab her and bring her back to the Wood."

He sighed. "My uncle and a cab driver and his horse were sucked into the wood with us, and all of us ended up in Narnia, just as Aslan was singing the world into being. Jadis escaped from us and I was tasked with finding a golden apple that, when planted, would protect Narnia from Jadis."

The old man's eyes were glossed over as he remembered the amazing journey to find the apple atop Fledge, the very first winged horse, which Aslan had created from the cab horse that had been sucked into Narnia with them.

"I resisted Jadis' attempts to seduce me to her side, picked an apple, and brought it back," he continued. "The tree bloomed and grew its own fruit and Aslan told me to take an apple to my mother, that it would cure her."

He picked up a picture on his desk and handed it to Quentin.

It showed the man before him, slightly younger, sitting beside an elderly woman.

"Is that your mother?" Quentin asked quietly, looking back up at the man as he held the frame in his hands.

Nodding, the man smiled. "The apple cured her," he said. "If you needed proof, perhaps that will help you. If Narnia wasn't real, my mother would have died long before that picture could be taken."

Handing the picture back, Quentin looked back at the professor's face. "What happened to the rest of the apple, if she only needed to take a bite?"

Professor Kirke smiled, standing. "Why don't you ask your young friend Lucy that question," he said, patting Quentin's shoulder as the boy stood with him. "I'm sure she would be most happy to explain."

Confused, Quentin let the professor guide him to the door.

As he exited the study, he turned back. "Thanks for the story," he said. "Hearing about Narnia wasn't quite enough. But seeing your mother's picture, for some reason, it helps this terribly logical mind of mine to accept it."

The professor nodded and gently shut the door, leaving Quentin standing awkwardly in the hallway outside the room. Shaking his head yet again, he turned and went to look for Lucy.

He needed to hear the rest of the story.

* * *

Quentin peeked around the corner and spied Lucy staring forlornly at a large, wooden wardrobe. _That must be the one they first went to Narnia through, _he thought to himself. Peter had said Lucy had tried to go back after they returned the first time, but the wardrobe had been just that – a wardrobe, complete with wooden back.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at the intricately carved door of the wardrobe, Lucy looked younger than her years. Maybe it was just being scrunched up into a ball, or maybe it was the sheer size of the wardrobe, the only other thing in the room, but Quentin felt like he was looking on a small child, and not a ten-year-old.

"Lucy?"

The girl jerked in response to the sudden voice in the silence of the spare room.

"Quentin!" she exclaimed, clutching her chest, "you scared the life out of me!" Gesturing lightly, she motioned for him to come in. He pushed open the door, stepped through, and then shut it behind him, eying the wardrobe before moving to sit beside Lucy.

"Where are the others?" he asked, looking away from her again to the beautiful piece of furniture in front of him. The dark wood reminded him of the rich paneling of his grandfather's house. He felt drawn to it, for some reason, but ventured no further than where Lucy sat.

With a sigh, Lucy picked at lint on her skirt. "In the library," she said. "Peter challenged Edmund to a rematch for that chess game he lost at home. Susan has her nose stuck in a book and I think Mum is fascinated to see that Peter and Ed know _how_ to play chess."

Nodding with a small smile, Quentin bit his lip and then voiced his question.

"The professor told me about his time in Narnia," he said, drawing Lucy's gaze. "But he told me to ask _you_ about what happened to the rest of the apple that cured his mother. So…here I am!"

Standing, Lucy stepped to the wardrobe and ran a light hand down the carving on the door. She heard Quentin stand behind her and waited for him to draw abreast of her before stating with a smile, "This. This is what happened to the apple."

He looked at her in confusion. "I don't get it…"

Pulling open the door, she stared into the sea of coats. "After his mother was cured, the professor buried the apple core in his garden and it sprouted into a beautiful and sturdy tree," she said. "It wasn't until years later that the tree was knocked down in a storm. The professor, unable to bear parting with it, had the wood turned into this wardrobe."

She took a step forward, into the wardrobe, and pushed aside the coats, edging back until she hit a wooden wall. Sighing, she stepped back out. "The wardrobe called to me, the first time I came in here during our game of hide and seek," she continued. "It still calls to me, but I can't get back through, obviously."

Lucy turned around to find Quentin staring at the wardrobe. Or, almost _through_ it. She frowned. "Quentin? Are you all right?"

He didn't respond, but stepped forward and gently nudged Lucy aside. "I…thought…" he muttered distractedly, pushing aside the coats in front of him and stepping forward. Lucy watched him in confusion, but she was completely shocked when he gasped and then his hand shot out and grabbed her, dragging her forward. "Look!"

Lucy stumbled, muttering about crazy boys as she hit the ground.

She looked at her hands in confusion.

They were resting, half-buried, in a pile of rich golden and brown leaves.

Gasping, she scrambled to her feet beside a wide-eyed Quentin and looked out into a beautiful forest.

"Narnia…"

* * *

_Library…_

Peter smiled broadly as Edmund grumbled under his breath.

"Now _this_ is more how I remember chess," he said lightly as he took another of Edmund's pieces from the board with a small flourish of his hand.

Beside them, Mrs. Pevensie was smiling and shaking her head in amazement. She had been surprised when Peter had challenged her younger son to a game of chess, since as far as she knew, neither boy had ever played the game.

Now, it was evident they _had_ played.

And often.

When Edmund hooted lightly in triumph and took one of Peter's knights, to the older boy's great dismay, she couldn't hold in her curiosity any longer. "Peter, Edmund," she said, putting a hand on her oldest son's shoulder. "Where did you learn to play chess? I've never seen you do it before, but you are both very good."

The boys look like they'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Both froze, Peter with his hand poised over the chess board, Edmund as he fiddled with his captured pieces – lining them up neatly on his side of the board.

"Um," Peter said, stalling. "I…well, we did play. A lot. Just, not at home. I mean, at school. Right, Ed?" When his brother didn't answer immediately, Peter kicked him under the table and Edmund jumped.

"Oh yes," he said, "we played at school all the time. Quentin's been bugging us to join the chess club, we just didn't get around to it. I thought you knew, Mum."

She shook her head in the negative.

It looked like she planned to continue in her line of questioning, but she noticed a strong frown on Peter's face and followed his gaze to the painting of a young man, dressed in medieval armor, perched above the fireplace on the far side of the library.

Mrs. Pevensie was completely surprised when Peter stood, grabbing his crutch, and moved off toward the painting, leaving a stunned Edmund and the mid-game chess board behind.

"Pete?" Edmund called out in confusion, his tone drawing Susan's nose out of her book.

The older boy didn't appear to be listening, so Edmund glanced up at the painting that had drawn his attention and had to cover his mouth to prevent himself from exclaiming something.

Susan wasn't so lucky and couldn't stop herself. "It _can't_ be," she gasped, standing as swiftly as Edmund, who was moving past their confused mother to move to Peter's right side. Susan drew up on his left.

"Caspian…" Peter said. "Or, rather, someone who looks a lot like him."

"Who is Caspian?"

Mrs. Pevensie was standing directly behind her children, looking at the handsome young man in the painting with interest. "Is that someone you know? I've never heard the name before, but perhaps a new friend?"

Peter slowly turned to their mother. "He's a friend," he said simply. "This looks like it could be his ancestor or something. But, maybe I'm just imagining things. We miss him and might just be thinking of him."

Edmund drew Peter's attention with a tug on his sleeve. "Um, Pete," he said. When the other boy didn't respond immediately, he tugged harder. "Peter!" He cried, practically spinning his brother around. "Look!"

At first, Peter saw nothing. But then, it appeared as if the painting were changing. The background started to pull forward, almost, and he saw that it was a beautiful forest, not the stone castle walls he'd seen the first time he looked.

The figure slowly faded from view as well and with a startled gasp, Peter hit the ground hard. Edmund and Susan both let out surprised yelps and the former a sharp "oomph" as they too hit the ground.

From under the pile of Pevensies, there was a yell.

"Gerroff me!"

Rolling over, Peter revealed a disheveled Quentin. Lucy was extricating herself from under Edmund's legs.

All five children looked between each other for a moment before the Pevensies let out whoops of joy and smiled broadly. Even Susan, who hadn't been so sure she wished to come back so soon, was grinning so widely her face looked like it had to hurt.

Peter eyed his crutch, then his brother and sisters and his best friend, the smile fading from his face.

"Try."

The older boy looked up at his brother at that and nodded slowly.

There was a moment of complete silence and the tension was so thick Edmund would have had trouble slicing through it, even with his swords. With baited breath, he, Lucy, Susan and Quentin watched as Peter moved slowly.

When a smile broke out on his face, and he jumped to his feet – both of them – they jumped up with him and threw their arms around each other. Quentin watched a bit awkwardly, but with a huge smile on his face as well.

Peter actually had tears of joy streaming down his face, and Edmund, Lucy and Susan were wiping away their own. Quentin even slapped furiously at his face, but would never admit he had been _crying _later.

"P…Peter…"

Jumping nearly a foot in the air, Peter slowly turned around.

Helen Pevensie was standing, a stray leaf perched in her dark hair, staring at her children and in particular, the standing Peter. The four Kings and Queens of Narnia gaped in surprise at seeing their mother.

"Where…what? Where _are_ we?" the woman asked.

Peter sighed and with a small smile, stepped up to his mother and drew her toward him into a strong hug, trying to soothe the light trembling he felt.

"Mum," he said quietly. "We have a lot to talk about. But…welcome to Narnia."

THE END

_A/N: Yes, that is the end. I can't really believe it's come to an end, it feels like I've been writing this forever and a day. Thank you to all of you who took the time to read and review the nearly 200,000 words of this story! That's quite a feat! There is a plan for a sequel, so pop me onto your author alert list and you should get an e-mail when I start posting that! It is as yet untitled and will be completely AU, set before Dawn Treader. But that's all I'm saying!_


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